The Children of the Damned - SYOC
by Sora Kalopsia
Summary: When King Christian changes the laws of Illéa so that he can chose out of his five, illegitimate heirs who will proceed him after his death, no one knows who exactly will take over the country. Now, after the death of one of the most despised rulers Illéa has ever seen, the Chosen Heir inherits a country about to tear itself into pieces and a Selection, at once. SYOC CLOSED.
1. Wait For It

**Chapter One - Wait for It**

 _"I am the one thing in life I can control."_

The death of a monarch is always one that it is met with some turbulence, no matter how many precautions are placed into effect to attempt to counteract the universe's plan. More often than not, however, rulers had transferred power over to their heir many years before the reaper came for their soul. This helped the country continue to prosper during the tragedy, or at least survive. Rebels or conspirators will always kindle some kind of a spark during such a time period, in an unusual show of grief. Normally, though, families with long lines and histories traced back to royalty have little trouble, if not emotionally, than economically retaining a balance over their provinces during a swap of power.

The death of King Christian, however, was not one that would or could ever be considered 'ordinary'. As the man lay coughing on his death bed, all of Illéa huddled around their television screens, eagerly awaiting what promised to be the most interesting transfer of power to be seen in the last hundred years.

So such was the state of the nation, the collective thoughts of all individuals focusing on the one pressing issue that would determine everything. There was so much to be gained or lost. The reign of King Christian had not been a pleasant one, marked with famine, war, and pestilence. The country had lost several key allies, Italy included, and the fighting both internally and externally had increased tenfold. Not a person wasted a breath on words of sadness for the King, or loss. No one would miss the ruler, who had been a particularly unpleasant person, even as monarchs went.

Despite being only fifty, the man lay on his death bed. The cause of the accelerated demise had not been released to presses, but most of the citizens thought that his reign of nearly thirty years had not been nearly short enough. He was one of the few monarchs that had not, even in poor health, chosen to relinquish power to one of his five children.

And it was the question of who was to be the heir that was the question on everyone's mind as they waited for the announcement that the King had left the world.

The dying monarch's reign had been plagued with misfortune and rife with misdeeds. His parents had been killed early in his life, leaving him King before he had even become an adult. His coronation had happened a month into his Selection, along with a rushed marriage to a girl from Allens, named Angelica Simmons. For a few months, the country was relatively prosperous. When a rebel attack stripped the palace and was responsible for the death of his new wife of three months, Christian became cruel and unreasonable. He was never remarried, but had numerous mistresses that he kept in the palace, who had birthed him his children and given him an heir.

The only question was who was the heir.

Traditionally, illegitimate children, or half-royals, were killed to assure the stability of the royal family. However, this law was only called into effect when there was a full heir. As the Queen Angelica had been killed before granting the kingdom an heir and Christian had never remarried, the King saw no reason to end the lives of the children. In fact, he worked to change the laws of Illéa that had stood for centuries.

If no true heir was birthed, the current monarch had the right to choose his or her successor among all the eligible parties.

This, of course, meant that even after King Christian departed this world, he had put into place an insurance policy of some sort.

Being able to choose who he handed the nation down to ensured that any child that did not agree with his or her father's policies would not have any power after his demise, whether they were the eldest or not. It allowed him to ensure that his line did not die out, and pass along the nation he had worked so hard to control was kept in his offspring's hand. In changing the law, he had effectively kept control even after his death. The palace was very heavily guarded and no one had seen how it was run. For all the country knew, one of the children could have been trained for this since the day of their birth.

And so, as the reporters informed the nation that the King had passed and that the reading of his will to his five children was happening as they spoke, citizens in each of the 35 provinces held their breath and awaited the name of their new monarch.

 _"I am inimitable. I am an original."_

Despite the fact their father had died, none of the four Royal children who sat in one of the many palace meeting rooms shed tears for him. He had not been a kind father, much as he had not been a good king. Their minds were focused on one thing at the moment, and that was what the paper contained that the man who would read the King's will, Lord Blakely, had in his slightly trembling hands.

The four young adults chose to sit far apart from each other. All were only related to each other through their father, and being half-siblings, had never been extremely close. Each had done their best to convince their father to leave Illéa in their hands. After the law change, there had been hope for all of them, not just the eldest. Now was the moment they had waited for all their lives.

There were five Royal children in total, but only four that currently occupied the room. Weston was running late. This was not an uncommon occurrence, no matter how unappealing the trait was. In fact, Weston seemed to be in a constant state of perpetual lateness. Usually, his siblings chose to ignore the habit of their brother, but today was inexcusable.

"Doesn't he know how important this day is?" Princess Juliet spoke up, breaking the uncomfortable silence. The most rebellious one in the room, she also happened to be the most vocal in her dislikes. Her voice was cold and biting, leaving none in doubt that she had aimed her words in an attempt to start an argument. Despite the fact that she was a year younger than Weston, her voice carried authority that no one could question. In disdain, she tossed a lock of dark hair behind her shoulder and glared around the room, challenging any of the rest to stand up for their sibling.

None of the other three had made any plans to defend their brother, although the youngest child in the room, Elyse, felt a twinge of guilt at that. At 14, she was not only the youngest but also the only one to share the same mother and father as one of her siblings. Weston, in fact. Though perhaps closer to him than with the other three, she couldn't help agreeing with Juliet that his lateness to this event was an offense that could not be overlooked.

Behind her, lounging on a couch easily, Prince Jasper gave an amused smile at his younger sister's harsh words. The only other male Royal, Weston was competition to him. However, there was no doubt in Jasper's mind that he should worry about his brother. While not fully confident that it would be him made the King, or that he even wanted the position, Weston had never been a threat. An annoyance, perhaps, but never taken seriously. His competition lay with Rosemary.

The oldest Royal child, Princess Rosemary, looked angelic despite the annoyance her other three siblings showed on their faces. With her blond curls and bright blue eyes, she looked more ready to be Queen than any of them. She was also the biggest threat to the others. Illéa had always been taken with Rosemary, who had looked innocently charming next to their horror of a father. With a dazzling smile and a voice like the purr of a kitten, the young woman had a way of making people believe anything she said.

The blonde used her talents now, radiating her beauty in the direction of Lord Blakely. "Sir," her voice was sweet and melodious. There was no great wonder why all of Illéa was under her spell. "Do you think we could start without my dear brother? We have all been waiting such a long time for the news... We'd make sure to pass it on to him, immediately, if it names him as the Heir." The tone of her voice as she spoke the last sentence made it painfully obvious that Rosemary didn't ever believe that would happen.

The old man tried to resist, but was eventually won over by the Princess's bright smile. "I suppose... As long as we tell Prince Weston as soon as he gets here... It would probably be alright."

Both Rose and Juliet smiled brightly at him, encouraging him as he started to unroll the scroll that would change their lives forever.

Lord Blakely cleared his throat and began to read the most important letter the four children would ever here.

"I, King Christian of Illéa, write my will to pass on my country onto one of my heirs." The advisor read. Jasper nearly groaned as the formalities were announced. Get to the point... He was growing extremely impatient.

Finally, after the monotonous preamble, the Lord finally arrived at the statement everyone, the children, the nobles, and all of Illéa, was waiting to here.

"The Heir to the Illéan throne will be..."

 _"I'm not falling behind or running late."_

Not for the first time, Prince Weston cursed himself for not looking at the clock. This was the worst possible day for him to be running late. The announcement day...

As he ran down the never ending hallways of the palace, looking the sight with his formal sight and his tousled, brown hair sticking up in all directions. The butlers and maids he passed dropped into curtsies or bows immediately, but he could tell that they were laughing at him on the inside. If he'd had the time, Weston would have told them off. He was a Prince, and would not tolerate people mocking him.

Today, however, he had more important things on his mind. Today was the day that everything would change. His entire life, his sibling's lives... They had all been in preparation for this day.

Oh, this was not looking promising. Of all days to run late, Wes... He scored himself as he broke into a flat out sprint. Two more corridors.

As he bolted towards his future, thoughts of his past occupied his mind. Weston knew that he had little chance of being chosen as his father's Heir. He was not what came to mind when one though "Prince", although neither was his half-brother, in Weston's opinion. The boy knew full well that he was awkward and introverted, shy to talk to people and constantly hiding in a fantasy world among the hundreds of books he owned. Jasper had always been far more popular with the young women of Illéa, with his blonde hair and winning, easy smile. However, Weston had never met a person who went through girls as fast as his brother, and then discarded them as if they were sticks of gum.

Not who Weston would have chosen as King, but it wasn't his choice to make.

Rosemary had the best chance, that was for sure. Not only was she Illéa's favorite, but she had also been their father's pride and joy. She had always been able to get anything she wanted with her sweet smile and innocent charm. Weston knew, however, that her beauty was only skin deep. Under the surface, the Rose had the sharpest thorns of anyone he'd ever met. She was ruthless and cold, wanting only what was best for her. If she became Queen, Weston shuddered to think of what would happen to him and his other siblings. They might be locked away somewhere, to avoid producing heirs, or... Worse. He wasn't sure, and he hoped that he would never have to find out.

Juliet wouldn't necessarily be a bad Queen, but she was too headstrong for her own good. Weston knew that his sister's heart was in the right place, but she was often impatient and rash in her decision making, taking after their father. A civil war was already breaking out in the provinces after the disaster that had been his father's reign. If the brunette was placed into power, the war would only worsen.

In all honesty, Weston felt that his sister, his only full sister, would make the best Queen, despite the fact that she was only fourteen. Elyse was the calmest of all five of them, and had the best head on her shoulders. It was unfortunate, the age gap between her and the four other Royal children.

Finally reaching his destination, Weston had to shake his head to clear his thoughts. Attempting to catch his breath after running such a long distance, he adjusted his tie. His hand rested on the handle for just a moment, and that was enough for all his fears and doubts about his life after this meeting rushed back to him, full force.

This was it.

With a deep breath, the Prince pushed the large, wooden door inward and stepped into the room.

The mood that he felt was not the one he was expecting whatsoever. The temperature seemed to drop about thirty degrees as soon as he stepped over the threshold. He could feel his siblings' eyes boring into his.

He knew he'd been late, but this reaction seemed a little extreme.

Juliet was the first he saw, and her hazel eyes were mixed with anger and confusion. A similar expression was mirrored on Jasper's face. His brother stared in wonder at Weston, making the latter squirm slightly uncomfortably. He got it, already! He wouldn't be late again.

If looks could kill, Rose would have murdered everyone in the room at this point. Weston would have been her first target, and he couldn't even meet those blue eyes that stared so coldly, they seemed to drill holes in his skull. The normally innocent blond looked more like a serial killer than he'd ever seen her. Weston shuddered and looked for his youngest sister...

And found her beaming at him. Her normally calm, collected manner seemed was gone, instead a childlike jubilance had filled her. As he stood in the doorway, the young girl flashed a quick thumbs-up at her older brother.

This... Made him far more confused.

Addressing the room at large, his voice shaking a little as he did it, Weston spoke. "Uhh..." He apologized. "I'm sorry for my tardiness."

No one spoke. Everyone was staring at him with looks of awe. The Prince fought the urge to check a mirror, in case he had something in his teeth or something.

Finally, Lord Blakely seemed to snap out of his trance. Staring straight at the boy in the door, he bowed low and when he spoke, in was in a sort of hushed reverence.

"All hail his majesty, King Weston of Illéa."

 **Hello everyone! I'm so glad that I finally got a chance to finalize this plan, as I've been working and drawing up plans for this story for an extremely long time. For those of you who read my other story, "When I Fall", which has almost twenty chapters now, I started working on the draft of this chapter sometime around Chapter 8 then.**

 **First off, I will NOT be discontinuing "When I Fall", for those of you who are fans of that. I still have every intention of finishing that story. This one has no relationship to that one, and in fact the two do not make any sense together. This story is going to be far less sad and much more angsty...**

 **I guess I should tell you the reason I decided to post this now. Certain things have happened in my life... And well, I'm just not going to be quite as busy as I expected in other extracurricular activities. I figured that now would be as good a time as any to post this. I did promise my good friend Amanda, who was one of the first people I told I wanted to write another SYOC fanfiction, that I would wait until at least Chapter 20 on "When I Fall" to post this story, and so eight months after I got the idea, here we are!**

 **Now, onto this story! This is definitely going to be a fun one. If it's not clear, the kids are all children of the King and his many mistresses, as his wife was killed only 3 months after they got married and before they had children, obviously. So, in order to keep a hold on the world and Illéa even after his death, King Christian changed the law of Illéa to let himself choose who he could hand the monarchy down to, as there was no true heir. Hence, Weston was chosen, much to the dissatisfaction of all his half-siblings (except Elyse).**

 **There's going to be a lot of sabotage, sass, and plots by the three siblings who wanted the crown. You'll see more about their plots and why they're actually a threat in later chapters, but for now I'm going to get to the rules and everything of the SYOC! YAY!**

 **As said in the summary, this is an SYOC story, though it's quite a small one. I'm taking 15 girls. Just 15. The rest I will fill in with throw away characters. With 15, I get to focus on all of them, and it's not an overwhelming number. I'm super eager to get this story out there, and I can't wait to get this show on the road. Please submit, and I'll love you all forever as long as you follow the rules below haha!**

 **Rules for Submissions-**

01\. This is will not operate on a first come, first served basis. This story is extremely complex, perhaps even more so than my other story "When I Fall" (never thought I'd say that), and it's going to involve testing characters in extremely unique, challenging ways. Because of this, I am going to be extremely picky in which characters I'm choosing, especially as I have chosen to only take 15 in total. Included in this will be the fact that I will not reserve provinces or spots, but I will not be closing the spots or posting the list until the 13th. You have time, don't worry. If you need an extension for a few days, I cannot promise anything, but if you send me exactly the reason and/or some of the form, you will have a better chance of me being lenient. I'm sorry if I sound intense or uptight, I'm just extremely excited to get this story going on it.

02\. The more **detailed** and **realistic** your character is, the better chance of being accepted they are. I would ALWAYS take too many details over not enough in a character. When I submit characters, my forms are generally 6-9 full PMs in length, and I've had at least two that have pushed to be more in the 12-13 message length. Please, please, PLEASE give me details, especially in the personality and appearance section. It makes it so much easier for me to write. **Remember, no one is perfect!** All girls must have logical **faults** and **weaknesses**.

03\. I will not be accepting girls through review, only PM. I'm sorry guests, but I may need to get in touch with you about your characters, and reviews do not allow for nearly enough detail because of the limited character count.

04\. Diversity! Illéa used to be the United States, which means that girls of all racial backgrounds exist. This doesn't just apply to race, however, and diversity in personality would be good. Not every girl is sweet and quiet, although some are. Girls can be mean, nice, free-spirited, reckless, quiet, loud, ect, ect. Writing 15 of basically the same character would be boring, not just to write but for you guys to read!

05\. Please make sure you guys chose a celebrity face claim that both looks like the girl you imagine your character to be, but also is of similar age. If you want to look at my Pinterest board for face claims that have been taken, they will be available after the deadline for applications. I get that's super inconvenient and I'm sorry, but I will do my best to tell you if that face claim has been taken.

06\. Please fill the form out completely, or your character will not be accepted or considered. It helps me so much, and I know it's long, but please! I really want to be as organized as I can with this story.

07\. Pinterest boards for your girls are optional, but super helpful! You don't have to add me if you don't like (my user is Ultimate MaxmericaShiper like my other ff account), but feel free to. It just helps me not only be able to figure out your character more, but also see examples of her style, quotes you feel could be said or apply to her, and tons of other things. Again, though, it's optional, so no pressure.

08\. Please title your form as it's said below! It helps me so much, just because it keeps everything organized. Also, PLEASE keep it in one PM set. Not one PM by any means, but when you send one part of the form, click on the "Outbox" and continue posting from the already sent message title. It makes it so much easier on me!

09\. I know I'm being wayyyyy too picky about forms, but make sure that you delete the stuff in the parenthesis () before sending in the form, if possible!

 **The Royals/Important Characters (Please Read! Super useful for filling out forms)-**

 _Minus the Prince who is having the Selection, Weston, the other siblings are listed in age order, from oldest to youngest. Because they have different mothers, a fair amount of them are extremely close in age._

King Christian (DECEASED): King Christian was not a good thing, and everyone was aware of this. He was given the position as ruler extremely early, after the sudden death of his parents. Rushing into a Selection, he was crowned King and married to Angelica only a month after the girl's names were drawn. He was an okay ruler until the death of his wife, when he became cutthroat and ruthless. He never remarried, even though there was no evidence that he truly loved Angelica, but had numerous mistresses and affairs, producing the five Royal children currently residing in the palace. He died of heart failure, and in his will named his middle child, Prince Weston, as the Heir.

Queen Angelica (DECEASED): Angelica was born a Three and worked in a library for most of her life up until being Selected at age 19. After only a month in the competition, she won the heart of the Prince (at that time) and became Queen. It was stressful for her, and she showed signs of being unhappy with her life even just a month after the marriage. Angelica was very soft spoken, however, so no one really noticed her unhappiness. She was killed by rebels three months after her marriage, when they ransacked the palace.

Prince Weston (20 1/2): Weston is the middle child, and shows a few of the traits that middle children often display. He is often overlooked, and no one expected him to become the King. In fact, he didn't either and was entirely unprepared for the announcement. Much more introverted and quiet than his brother and sisters, Weston would prefer to spend his days reading rather than actually have to be King. He is uncomfortable around most people, especially large crowds, but is incredibly sweet in an awkward way once you get to know him. Unlike his half-brother, he is fairly respectful of women, he just has no idea how to act around them.

Princess Rosemary (22): Rosemary looks like an angel, but has the heart of a demon. She's got all of Illéa wrapped around her little finger. Everyone loves her, and most would have rather seen the monarchy fall to her. Luckily, King Christian made a better choice. Rose is evil in the core, the beauty only skin deep. She is ruthless and will do anything she can to get power, something you would never expect from someone so innocent and adorable-looking.

Prince Jasper (21): Jasper's reputation with women supersedes him, though Illéa chooses to turn a blind eye to the faults of the handsome Prince. He has slept with the majority of young women at the palace, mostly maids, but has pretended to "woo" the hearts of several princesses of other nations before promptly breaking their hearts. Jasper goes through women like one might go through towels, and sees no problem to this behavior. His strategy to sabotage Weston will certainly be something to do with the 35 girls entering the palace.

Princess Juliet (19, almost 20): Juliet isn't nearly as scary as Rosemary, and her heart is in the right place. However, she is often headstrong and impatient, making rash decisions that tend to get her in trouble. She has the strongest ideas about how the monarchy should be run, but a tendency to not listen to other people's ideas. She wouldn't be a terrible Queen, but Illéa would not really like her as their ruler all that much. She tries to do what's right, however, and her believes are in the peoples' best interests.

Princess Elyse (14 1/2): Elyse is the only child to be fully related to another. She has the same mother and father as Weston does, meaning that she becomes the full Princess and Heir by default if her brother is killed or steps down. Elyse is by far the brightest of her siblings, despite being 6 years younger at least. She is very worldly of a girl of only 14, and never expected to be made Queen, even though it would be a good idea in all honesty. She is the most popular of the siblings, after Rosemary, and is the only friend Weston has in his siblings during the Selection.

 **Please title your form like so: Girl's Name, Age, Caste, Occupation - TC Selection Form (First Choice Pronvince)**

 _Example: Echo Cassey Rolland, 16, Three, Unemployed - TC Selection Form (Atlin)_

 **The Form-**

Full Name:

Nickname (Optional):

Age (16-20):

Caste:

Financial Status:

Province (Top 3 choices just in case one is taken, feel free to explain why it matters/how it's affected her, if it does. Top choice will go in the subject headline as shown above):

Occupation (be creative! 4Love4Love4 has an amazing PowerPoint on the jobs in each caste, if you need inspiration):

Hair (color, texture, length, thickness, type):

Eyes (shape, color, lashes, eyebrows):

Skin (tone, texture, birthmarks, scars, etc…):

Body Shape:

Height/Weight:

General Appearance (Detail!):

Celebrity Face Claim:

Family (Name, age, personality, appearance, relationship w/character):

Friends (same as Family but social status too):

Personality (Detail, please, I'm begging!):

Background/History:

Likes:

Dislikes:

Fears:

Talents:

Strengths:

Weaknesses:

Romantic History:

Maids (Name and a little info please – Only 3):

Guard at Door (Same as Maid – but only one):

Reason for Entering:

Thoughts on Royal Family and how they treat them (Remember the general population of Illéa is not super happy with the monarchy, even if they are not openly rebels):

Thoughts/Treatment of King Christian (Deceased):

Thoughts/Treatment of the Late Queen Angelica (Deceased, not the mother of any of the Royal Children):

Thoughts/Treatment of Prince Weston (20 1/2, the one having the Selection):

Thoughts/Treatment of Princess Rosemary (22, most people's favorite on camera):

Thoughts/Treatment of Prince Jasper (21, the one most people forget):

Thoughts/Treatment of Princess Juliet (19, almost 20, the "rebellious" one kind of):

Thoughts/Treatment of Princess Elyse (14 1/2, the youngest by a considerable amount):

How they treat Maids/Guards/Staff:

How they treat fellow Selected:

First Date Ideas (creativity is always appreciated!):

Quotes:

Scene (Optional):

Things they take with them to the castle:

Favorite Color:

Favorite Food:

Favorite Animal:

Anything Else (literally, give me anything you'd like! Does she have her ears pierced? Any pets? Anything!):

 **Thanks to Hailey (morethanjustastory) and Star (XOStarbrightXO) who I stole this most of this form from, although I didn't ask first. Whoops! Love you both a ton!**

 **All this information and more is posted on my bio, as well, where you can copy and paste things! Please consider submitting a character! I don't bite, I swear, and if you are unsure of my writing style and if it's something you like, I urge you to check out my other story to get a better example. I am by no means a great writer, but I do feel that I am getting better with each chapter. Granted, "When I Fall" has an extremely different mood than this one if going to have, but it's better than nothing.**

 **Thank you all so much! Remember, if you liked it to follow, favorite, or drop a review! It really makes my day. Sorry to overload you with information in Chapter One, as well. If you have any questions, feel free to PM me! I don't bite and I love to meet people.**

 **More information as to why Weston is rushing into a Selection and so on will be in the next chapter!**

 **-Sora**


	2. Demons

**Chapter Two - Demons**

 _"I wanna hide the truth, I wanna shelter you."_

Weston laughed.

And then instantly regretted the decision.

This, this... This was a joke, wasn't it? They were messing with him, that's what it had to be. Though it was true that his siblings weren't the prancing type and this did seem like an awfully inconsiderate time to be doing things like this, with his father's lifeless body still warm, there was no way that this could be happening to him. His father had hated Wes. Called him a moron (among many worse words), told him that he'd never amount to anything.

All his life, he'd been a stain on his family's name. Someone, something, that his siblings were stuck with. He wasn't worth anything compared to them.

Rosemary was pretty. Juliet was smart. Elyse was kind. Jasper... Probably had something else going for him than having slept with almost every young woman in the palace, though granted Weston couldn't think of one off the top of his head. Still, that alone was a skill that he himself wasn't capable of. Sure, he was fairly glad that he didn't have that talent, but that was entirely besides the point.

And Weston... He was a screw up. He ran late, and forgot rules, and didn't have any idea how to rule a country. Heck, he wasn't even sure he could name all of the 35 provinces of Illéa, let alone control them.

"You- you," the Prince- no, King, stammered, blue eyes widening in confusion and horror. "You're... Joking, right? This is a joke... Right?" His tone held evident panic. Please, tell him this wasn't real.

Rosemary let out a little scoff of annoyance, her anger making her drop the sweet exterior. "If only. It seems our father was just as crazy as the citizens of Illéa had tried to tell us. But, according to Lord Blakely, you have been named the heir to his throne." Her voice was blunt and probably should have hurt Weston, but he agreed with her.

This couldn't be happening. It was all a bad dream. In an effort to try and wake up, the King pinched himself a little harder than he meant too, and yelped softly. The blonde's eyes narrowed and Weston cursed himself. Of course, Rosemary would assume he thought he was in Heaven. That this was a dream come true for him.

She couldn't have been more wrong, but he couldn't find the words to tell her that fact.

His other siblings were quiet, apparently at a loss for words. This unnerved Weston almost more than Rosemary's insults. Never, at any point in her life, had Juliet been silent. But, here she sat, mouth slightly open and eyes like daggers. Without a word, she gathered the train of her long, purple dress and stormed from the room. Rosemary, shooting one last dirty look at Weston, followed.

Lord Blakely cleared his throat, and Percy jumped. He'd almost forgotten the older man was in the room. "Yes, er, well..." The gentleman was clearly uncomfortable with what had just happened, although fighting among the siblings was not uncommon in the Illéan palace. "I should go inform the press of this most... Delightful event. I'll, er... Just be going." Though not the most graceful exit, Lord Blakely did make it out of the room and had closed the door behind him before bursting into laughter.

"Never thought I'd live to see the day..." The old man chuckled.

After the Lord's exit, Weston was uncomfortably aware that both Jasper and Elyse's eyes were on him. Elyse was still smiling brightly, which was almost worse than his other sisters' glares, and Jasper just looked perplexed.

Standing up, the only other boy made an excuse to leave the room. "I should go check on Jules." He said, and Weston nodded without really listening. Juliet and Jasper had always been the closest of any of the five, even closer than himself and Elyse despite the fact the two weren't fully related. Perhaps it had something to do with both their names starting with the same letter, as Weston couldn't think of any logical reason the two opposites would be so close. He didn't dwell on it, today, however, as he had bigger issues to ponder.

Oddly enough, Jasper didn't seem mad at Weston. The King supposed that his brother probably was slightly relieved, as all that paperwork would have interrupted his time that could be better spent seducing young women. Walking towards the door, Jasper gave Weston an awkward clasp on the back as he passed. "Er, congratulations, Wes."

There was the slam of a door and then he was alone, except with his youngest sister. For a moment, neither of them spoke.

"Wow..." Elyse tried valiantly for humor that almost worked, but fell just short. "That was almost affectionate, for Jasper."

Weston's mouth formed into a weak grin, but his heart wasn't really in it. The world was starting to go black as all the blood rushed into his head. His heart was beating so fast, it felt more like a buzzing. This couldn't be happening. This was just a dream.

This was

just

a

dream...

 _"But with the beast inside, there's nowhere we can hide."_

As a matter of principle, Rosemary only cried when she was trying to get something. So, when the word was announced that it was not she, but her idiot younger brother that was to be crowned King, the blonde did not shed a single tear.

But Weston would when she got her hands on him.

Her heels clipped across the granite floors off the palace as she stormed away from the room, from her siblings, from the bitter disappointment. Despite the fact that she was one of the most intelligent women in the palace, nearly rival long Juliet but preferring to keep her ideas to herself, the Princess could not wrap her mind around what had just happened. She had expected to come out of that room a Queen. Everyone had expected it. Illéa adored her, she thought with a bitter grin, even if they didn't know the real her. Everyone who was anyone had placed bets that the next ruler would be her. The beauty. The angel.

And everyone had been wrong.

How could she, the beloved child, the pride of her father's eye, have lost to her oaf of a brother. He didn't deserve the crown. He didn't have any brains or knowledge on how to run a kingdom in that head of his. All he knew was how to mess up... Their father had told him that over and over. Rosemary, on the other hand, had never once been late. Never once embarrassed her father. Never once accidentally spilled punch on the daughter of the Italian King.

Weston had done all those things and more, and yet for some ungodly reason, he was now to be the King.

Well, Rosemary would put a stop to that plan. She knew more about the workings and laws of Illéa than any of her siblings.

And she might just have the thing that could overthrow her brother's coronation.

Thoughts swirling around her head, partially in a daze, Rose made her way back to her own room. Her maid, Marian, greeted her at the door with a polite curtsy. "Your highness..." The woman was only a few years older than the Princess herself, but spoke with nothing but worship in her voice. One of the many reasons Rose had yet to fire her.

Ignoring the maid, Rose strode to the dresser and seated herself on it. She looked into the mirror, examining her skin in case the stress of a few minutes might have caused any unsightly pimples to emerge. Thankfully, she looked as radiant as always. That taken care of, it was now time for her to think. "Marian, you may go." Rosemary dismissed the woman without a glance backwards, knowing that her servant dropped into another curtsy before fleeing the room. She'd seen it happen all her life. There was the soft click, and the door closed.

Getting to her feet, she approached the door and turned the lock. She needed complete quiet to think and was not to be disturbed. Rose needed a plan, and fast. Though the announcement had already been made to Illéa, there was scheduled to be a Report, as well, later that night. That left her with less than three hours to come up with some way to overthrow her brother.

The King, her father, had only chosen one Heir. He did not leave instructions on who would take over if Weston somehow failed the requirements necessary to rule. And with him out of the picture, surely the crown would fall to her as the oldest. Perhaps, some talk of Elyse being the next in line might come up as she was closer related to Weston than the rest were, but that wouldn't be an issue. Rose's younger sister was still a child, not eligible to rule for many years.

 _And, if need be... You can always eliminate her._

The voice was back, Rose winced as she held her head, hoping it would just go away on its own, even though it never did. One of many voices she heard, the ones that haunted her and pulled her this way and that. Never could they agree on anything, except that they all hated her. Who she was, what she did, everything. Unless, of course, she was a good girl and listened to them. Gave them what they wanted.

But, what they wanted was always evil. They whispered horrible things to her, things that no one should ever have to here. Constantly, they were reminding her of how easy it would be to grab the guard's gun and shoot Jasper when he became annoying. One bullet was all it would take, and she'd get a break from the annoying voice of his.

Yet, she wasn't sure if it was her brother's voice she wanted to get rid of, or the ones that plagued her mind. A question that always had haunted her, since she first started hearing them when she had been nine years old. It had been nearly 15 years since they had come. At first, she thought it might be normal. That perhaps a lot of people heard things like what she did. And yet, as she grew, she realized how abnormal it was. Her siblings didn't hear things like she did. They didn't know how easy things were, for her. What she knew.

She knew things that no child should ever know.

And, for a while, she didn't mind. Rose thought she was special... She was smarter than her siblings, and what did that matter if she heard voices every once and a while. They didn't bother her. Sometimes, she welcomed them. Even as a child, her siblings hadn't liked her. Everyone except Elyse had been born when she started hearing them. Jasper and Juliet were constantly together, and Weston never wanted to be around anyone. Plus, he had his doting mother to read to him and pamper him. Not Rose. Her mother had died giving birth to her. There were no pictures of her, anywhere. She later found out that this was because the King was having other affairs even before her mother had died.

When she was 15, the voices grew more restless and came more often. _You are no longer a child_ , they told her. _You are special_ , they pampered when no one else did.

 _You could be Queen. Then everybody would love you. And if they didn't, you could end their lives._

And that's when the idea first crossed her mind.

The one voice she'd just heard sparked a thousand. Her head was a battle field, hundreds of soldiers screaming what they wanted.

 _Kill them. Use them. Destroy them. Crush them. You are superior. You should have been picked. You are worthless. You are better than him. Don't even bother trying. It's yours for the taking. Give it up. The solution is under your pillow._

The conflicting messages bounced around her head and Rose thought her head might split open, they were screaming so loudly. Lately, the voices seemed to be non stop, no matter what she did. She couldn't sleep at night, for all the racket they caused.

In a moment of weakness, a flash of the child she used to be came out. "Please..." Her voice was barely a whisper, and she let her head fall onto the vanity table, using her hands to cover her ears. "Please, go away. I don't..." Her eyes filled with tears, but that just made the voices scream louder. She wasn't supposed to cry. They told her not to cry. That she looked like a baby when she cried. "I don't want to hurt anyone..." She tried to stammer what she really felt, or thought she did. Rose knew how many people who knew her hated her. She saw how her siblings avoided her, how the staff shrank away when she entered the room. Illéa loved her, but they didn't know how evil the rest thought she was.

No one knew about this side of her. The side that was weak. That tried to fight against the voices. In fact, no one knew about the voices either. Rose had never told anyone what she heard. If they did, they'd lock her up somewhere. A place with four high walls and no windows. They'd give her medications that would "help". The voices always screamed the loudest when she thought about telling someone.

And so she never had.

"I don't want to hurt anyone." She pleaded with them. She was just a girl, barely an adult. She was a pretty face. She was smart. She was polite when she wanted to be. She wasn't... She wasn't a monster.

But as she remembered the small, ornate bottle with the colorless, odorless liquid that she kept under her pillow, Rose couldn't convince herself that the last thought was true.

Her original idea had been to announce Selection. She knew her brother was terrified of girls and would refuse. Then, as the law stated that he could not rule without a Queen as a male monarch, he would have to forfeit his crown to her. She'd gladly accept it. This plan would surely go off without a hitch. After all, by the look on her brother's face, he didn't want to rule after all.

But, even as she prepared to announce the Selection on the Report tonight, the voices instructed her to slip the bottle into her pocket... As a backup plan.

 _"No matter what we breed, we still are made of greed."_

Jasper's knock was soft on his sister's mahogany bedroom door, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot. Usually, he wouldn't have bothered knocking on Juliet's door in the first place. Though they had grown apart in recent years, the two half siblings were still decently close and Jasper had always been one to barge into things uninvited.

Now, however, he felt awkward. His father had certainly placed them in an awkward situation. There had always been fighting among the siblings, mostly between Juliet and Rosemary, but this was insane. How could he have decided that this was okay? The fact that he chose an heir, that was something that made the blond's blood boil just thinking about it, even though his desire to become King had never been as strong as his sisters' had been. Still, that... That had been exactly what Illéa had hated about his father. He was so arrogant, so sure that he could do no wrong.

Upon his death, he'd made one of his five children feel loved and special. He'd told the other four that they were not. Not good enough to be chosen. Not good enough to be King.

Jasper had not, in fact, felt himself confident enough to rule. Neither had his father, apparently. And yet, he felt Weston was? The idea was absurd. Weston had his head in the sky and his nose buried in a book. Though he himself might not have been the perfect picture of what a Prince was supposed to be, at least Jasper showed up on time for things!

It was unbelievable...

When there was no answer to his knock, he decided to try the door. Locked. He heard nothing inside the room, but was sure Juliet had to be in there.

"Jules." He used her nickname that he'd given her as a child. "It's me."

Silence.

Silence that infuriated Jasper. He did not like being ignored. She had no right to lock him out. Though he loved her, sometimes his sister could be so selfish. Didn't she realize that he might be upset as well.

Since their father had ruined ties to almost all other countries, there hadn't ever been a lot of children in the palace, growing up. In the past, some of his ancestors had formed strong friendships with Princesses and Princes from other nations. That wasn't the case with the five of them. As far as Jasper knew, he'd only met a few his own age. He had a vague relocation of seducing a young Italian delegate a few years back, and he shuddered at the thought of Prince Liam, one of the biggest jerks he'd ever met and that was coming from Jasper.

Sure, the Prince of Illéa knew he wasn't the nicest person around. He knew that his reputation for having no respect for women preceded him. But, he wasn't as horrible as people made him out to be. He was spoiled, and arrogant, and a playboy.

But he would never hurt anyone and disgrace his family, like Liam had. But that was a story for another day.

For as long as he could remember, Juliet had been his best friend. And, although they weren't as close as they had been when they were younger, her silence hurt him in a way he didn't like to admit.

"Jules." He pounded on the door again. "Jules, open up. I know you're in there. The door locks from the inside."

There was another moment of quiet before he heard the shuffling of feet. The deadbolt was slid out of place and then the door swung open. Juliet's dark curls were messier than they had been this morning, and she'd obviously been crying by the looks of the redness of her hazel eyes. Jasper's heart hurt just to see her crying, brotherly love being revived after so many years of them going separate directions.

Without warning, she launched himself at his chest and burst into tears again. A little taken aback, Jasper quickly wrapped his arms around his baby sister and pushed her forward slightly, into her room and closing the door. When she was too upset to walk, clinging to him and sobbing uncontrollably, he scooped her up into his arms and carried her towards her bed. He noted a unrolled piece of paper laying on it, but didn't give it much of a thought as he sat softly on top of her bed. Jasper opened his arms, letting her go, but she refused to leave his lap. Her tears physically hurt him, but he was more perplexed than anything. Never had he seen his younger sister lose it like this. He'd known that she'd wanted to be Queen, wanted to make a difference, to spite the father she'd hated so much, but he didn't think she'd have this much of a reaction to it.

As she buried her face in his dress shirt, dark hair obscuring her face from view, Jasper's curiosity grew and grew until he could take it no more. "What's wrong, Jules?" He asked, his voice soft and sweet. If a member of the staff had seen this, they wouldn't have ever believed it was Prince Jasper. The well-known playboy rarely ever showed his soft side, even as a child, but he certainly hadn't for several years. "Is this about the announcement?"

Surprisingly, Juliet shook her head, but was too busy sobbing to explain. No? Then, what was it. Without him even having to ask, she pointed to the piece of paper lying about a foot from them. Jasper used the arm not stroking her back to grab it. Scanning it quickly, he saw it was from Juliet's long time boyfriend, Henry Starr, who was a guard in the palace staff. Though it was unusual for a Princess to date a staff member, since there was no guarantee she would be the Heir and was only half Royal, everyone turned a blind eye. Jasper had personally never liked Henry, who was far too similar to Jasper in his manners towards women. The Prince himself could do things like that, but no one could hurt his baby sister. But, Henry had made Juliet so happy that Jasper hadn't intervened.

Reading the contents of the letter, Jasper cursed himself for not having done something.

Juliet sniffled, but her sobs had subsided slightly. Lifting her head out of his shirt, she took the letter back from her brother. "He..." Her voice was interrupted by dry sobs and tears still rolled down her cheeks. "He heard I hadn't been chosen as the Heir... And he broke up with me."

"Oh, Jules." Jasper clutched his sister tighter to his chest as she continued sobbing. The poor thing. Henry had broken her heart... All because she wasn't crowned. Jasper guessed that the boy had probably never loved his sister, but got into her heart early enough so it wouldn't look like a clutch for power. "I'm so, so sorry..." He told her, but she was crying so loudly that he didn't know if she'd heard him.

As he rocked her slowly back and forth in his arms, he was aware of how young his sister seemed right then. Sure, she was usual so feisty and vocal that no one dared to contradict her opinions. She had always been the rebel, even in youth. Even though Jasper was two years older, she had always seemed more mature. Though she was headstrong and made rash decisions, she was also incredibly wise beyond her years.

But she was only 19 years old.

She'd been dating Henry since she was 16. He'd been her first love, her first kiss. She and he went everywhere together. He'd been handsome and tall and he'd completely stolen her heart.

And then he'd left. He must have known that he'd kill her, by writing a letter that admitted he never loved her. Must have known that he'd have to flee the palace. He was probably already gone, Jasper realized. The guards had been scheduled for placement changes that day. He must have known he'd be leaving, or he wouldn't have been so comfortable.

Jasper could think of a few choice words for that man, but none he should say around his little sister. She wasn't little anymore. She wasn't scared of the monsters under her bed, or begging to sleep in his room when she heard a scary noise. Juliet had blossomed into a lovely young woman, and he'd been so self absorbed, so busy chasing the pretty girls on the staff, he'd completely missed it.

He hadn't noticed what Henry's real intentions were and now it was too late. She'd lost the crown and her love in one day. Juliet had every right to cry, and Jasper couldn't find anything to say that might make her feel any better.

But he pulled his baby sister closer towards him and promised that he'd never abandon her again.

 _"This is my kingdom come, this is my kingdom come."_

 **Ahhh, there are so many new things I introduced in this chapter. I had them all planned out since I posted Chapter One, but I wanted you to draw your own conclusions about characters before I gave a ton of backstory on each of them. Rose's hurts my heart the most, though, I must say. And all y'all were thinking she was just going to be demonic because she was a horrible person. Don't worry, though, I would have too if I had been in your place.**

 **Also, I think Jasper and Juliet's sibling bond might be the cutest one I've ever written. More will be coming, for sure. In WIF, Percy is really cute with Courtney, but Percy's pretty cute with most people. Jasper's basically a jerk unless someone's mean to his baby sister.**

 **And, as for why the Selection is happening, Rose was right about the laws. They're based off of the ones in modern day Great Britain, where supposedly the King has to have a Queen to rule (or at least start out with one... I don't know exactly about what happens if she dies. But, King Christian's wife died, so we're going to say they just have to start out with one).**

 **But anyway, thanks for the tons of amazing characters that have already been submitted to me! I decided to screw not telling anyone until the deadline, because next chapter will start character introductions. However, I HAVE NOT FINALIZED THE LIST YET! If you do not see your character's name on the list, DO NOT PANIC! I just accepted the ones I knew for sure about, like the forms I felt immediately drawn too or, in some cases, exceeded 10 full PMs in length. The record at this point is 13 PMs and honestly, I cried because that was amazing that someone wrote a form that long for me.**

 **Your characters are all so wonderful and amazing that I decided to expand the number of spots open to 20. If, for some reason, I have trouble filling this, I will reduce it back to 15 then.**

 **Currently as I write this, there are 13 spots open. Probably less, however, since I've gotten a ton of great submissions that I haven't accepted or read in detail enough that I may still accept. A lot depends on how they would fit in with other girls, so forgive me if you don't see your girl's name up yet. She may still make it, although I will not make promises as I honestly have no idea as of yet. I'm sorry.**

 **Well, this A/N is already super long, so I'm going to wrap it up. Don't forget to review, follow, and favorite, as well as keep on submitting! Love you all so much! Next chapter will probably introduce two girls, as long as each scene doesn't get too long. If it does, it might just be one, but we'll see.**


	3. No One Mourns the Wicked

**Chapter Four – No One Mourns the Wicked**

" _Are people born Wicked?"_

Princess Juliet Anastasia Sinclair

Juliet hated crying.

It was ugly and noisy and it messed up your makeup. As a rule, the princess didn't cry. Yell, yes. Argue, quite a lot actually. But she did not cry.

She was not allowed to cry.

She had never been allowed to cry.

Crying wasn't becoming of a Queen. Queens were strong. That was what her mother had always told her, when Juliet was a young girl. Queens were smart, and quick, and didn't need anyone to tell them what to do. Most of all, however, Queens had to be the strongest people in the entire land. Their kingdom was always depending on them. There was no room to be afraid, no room to make mistakes. No room to show… weakness.

"You do want to be Queen, don't you?" Juliet could still remember the conversation she'd had with her mother when she was seven. She had been in her room, as she was now, sitting on her mother's bed sniffling at the latest injury had gotten. Not a particularly graceful child, Juliet was constantly trying to challenge her older brother, Jasper, in one competition after another. This time, the two of them had been racing in the gardens when she had slipped and skinned her knee. It was only a scrape, barely cut enough to bleed, but Juliet sobbed as if her arm had been amputated all the way back to the palace. As much as it hurt, however, she still squirmed in Jasper's arms as he carried her back to her mother.

Part of her squirming was out of pride, but mostly it was out of fear. Her father always got mad at Jasper when she got hurt. He was angry at her, as well, but he could yell at Jasper as much as he wanted. When the King yelled too strongly at Juliet, her mother would get mad at him. Jasper's mother had died when he was a baby, she knew. There was no one stopping their father from scolding him.

Luckily, they had managed to get to her mother's room without being seen by anyone other than a couple of guards. Jasper had laid her down on the bed and, refusing to meet either of the two women's eyes, excused himself from the room.

"Yes, Mommy." Juliet had said with a sniffle, tears still rolling down her cheeks. At this point, her mother had applied healing cream to the injury and there was really no pain. However, the young girl had a tendency to be rather dramatic when it came to even the smallest cut or bruise. Being a Princess usually implied one had a rather low tolerance for pain.

"Then stop crying at once. Queens do not cry." Her mother's blue eyes were cold, much like the older sister that Juliet despised, even though Rosemary wasn't related to the brunette's mother. Ducking her head, the young princess used the sleeve of her dress to wipe her nose before her mother pulled her hand away. "And they certainly use better manners than that. I didn't raise you to be a hooligan unlike your good-for-nothing competition. You are going to be a Queen, Juliet. I raised you to be a Queen."

Her mother's eyes glazed over, just like they always did when she talked about Juliet's future. To the woman, there was nothing else. Although Juliet wouldn't figure out until later, she would come to see just how much her mother lived vicariously through her. She hadn't even been eighteen when she and the King had found out Juliet would be arriving within the year. The daughter of the French Ambassador, she had a prime position in the goings on in the palace.

Even at such a young age, Juliet was aware of her mother's beauty. Her dark hair and willowy figure, a lot like her daughter, was only the beginning. To Juliet, her mother was the most beautiful person in the world. She could easily be Queen, because little Juliet knew that Queens were supposed to be beautiful. Her mother told her this, when she was plucking her eyebrows and trying to wash the girl's many scrapes and bruises off. The young brunette was constantly being compared to Rosemary, who only twelve was easily considered one of the prettiest children that Illea had ever seen.

Juliet knew she wasn't as pretty as her older sister, and that she would never been as pretty as her mother. Her mother herself had told her this. Stated the fact that Juliet must have taken after her father, since children born on her mother's side of the family were always beautiful. Though the child loved her mother dearly, she didn't like some of the things she said to her. She was her mother's daughter, she knew. She had to be.

"Yes, Mommy." Juliet muttered quietly, not wanting to be scolded anymore. All her life, Juliet had been encouraged to participate, to learn, to become far smarter than her older siblings. She couldn't let her mother down. She couldn't fail. She'd been allowed to argue her point and fight to get her way. Queens were supposed to get there way.

The only one she wasn't allowed to argue with was her mother. She knew better than that… Not at first, but she had learned over the years. Even Queens had mothers. It didn't bother the child too much that her mother was always in charge, always bossing her daughter around. Her mother was always right, after all. She was the most wonderful person on the planet. As a girl, Juliet had idolized her more than anyone else.

But then things, as they tended to do, changed.

" _Where's Mommy?" Juliet struggled on her short, eight-year-old legs to keep up with her father. He always walked too fast when he was angry, and the King was certainly angry now. Face as red as a beat and eyes full of rage, he was scary to all who beheld him. Maids and butlers alike scattered in his presence, only after dropping into curtseys so low they almost touched the floor. "Where are we going?" No one had told Juliet anything, and she hadn't seen her mother in almost a week. When she asked her nanny or any of the staff members, they turned away._

 _Her father didn't answer the small child and instead walked faster. Eventually, the two of them came to a huge pair of double doors on the first floor of the palace, a remote area where the young Princess had never been before. Two butlers opened the doors for the King, their faces stone. Juliet wasn't sure what was behind the doors. Maybe it was a surprise? Her birthday was coming up in a few weeks. Maybe her mother had planned a party. But then why was everyone wearing black?_

 _Peaking out from behind her father, the small girl looked into the large room for the first time. It was full of people, all dressed in black as she and her father were. The entrance she passed through was raised, high above the rest of the room. People sat gathered in a half circle around what looked to be a lowered pit. Guards were placed all around the room, as well as around the box that Juliet had entered. The young girl didn't know what they were for, exactly, but they didn't meet her eyes when she tried to smile at them. This offended her. Guards usually smiled and tipped their hats at her, even though they weren't required to. She liked it when they did that. No one smiled at her now._

 _Seated in posh chairs were her siblings and their mothers. The large chair in the center was empty, as was the slightly smaller one next to it. Her father beckoned for her to sit in the small one, and she did so without fighting the order. This was unusual for her, but she was too distracted looking at something she had never seen before. There was a chair in the middle of the pit, with straps tied around a masked figure seated in the chair. Several guards stood facing the chair, guns at their sides. Only when she was older did she learn what the strange looking objects were for._

 _It was an execution._

 _Juliet looked at her father in confusion, but he did not meet her eyes. She looked around for her mother, and, not able to find it, sat back with a pout. Everyone else had their mother, except Jasper at first. Both he and Rosemary were sitting extremely still, eyes wide in their head. They seemed to understand more than Juliet herself did, which upset the child. She was much smarter than either of them, after all. Her other brother, Weston, sat with his mother. Weston's mother wasn't nearly as pretty as Juliet's, but the young girl noticed how she held his hand in public. Her mother never did that. The new baby, Elyse, was asleep cradled in her brother's free arm. Whips of brown hair were already showing, even though she was only about a month old._

 _Suddenly, the King next to her rose from his seat and addressed the crowd. "Citizens of Illea, you have gathered to day to witness the cleansing of our country, and in particular, this palace. A traitor has taken refuge under my roof without my knowledge, and today, the country frees itself of this burden."_

 _His next words cut through Juliet's heart, even at her young age. "I give you the traitor, Melissiana Samantha Delize, mother of Princess Juliet Anastasia Sinclair."_

 _The bag was removed from the head of the figure tied to the chair, and Juliet gasped when she say her mother sitting there. Her makeup was gone and she wore a simple white dress, but Juliet would know her mother's face anywhere. Those defiant blue eyes stared down her father as she sat before the eyes of her country._

" _Citizen Mellissiana Delize, you have been found guilty of having an affair with a foreign national, and may have passed information of national safety to this man. You have been sentenced to death by fusillading. Do you deny these accusations?"_

 _Those cold blue eyes seemed to stare into King Christian's soul. Her voice was hard and clear when she answered, and if she was afraid, she didn't show it. "No."_

 _"Very well then. Since you have not chosen to plead not guilty to your crimes, you will carry out your sentence. It is your duty to the King, and the duty of every citizen of Illea to watch the elimination of such a criminal."_

 _This time, he spoke not to her but to the soldiers in front of her. "Guards, prepare your weapons."_

 _Juliet didn't understand anything that was happening. Weapons? Traitor? The words were foreign to her and though she had a vague idea of what they meant, she didn't understand what was happening. Why was her mother down there and not up here with her? Looking around, she saw Weston's mother pull her closer to him and take the baby from his arms. Her brown eyes were swimming with tears. Rosemary's mother, the oldest of any of the siblings' mothers, gripped the arm of her chair so tightly that her hand was white. Jasper and her sister were simply frozen, unwilling or unable to take their eyes off of the seen playing out before them._

 _It was all too much for the child. "Mother!" she screamed, hoping she could be heard over the murmurs of the crowd. "Mommy!"_

 _Her mother heard her. Juliet could tell because her eyes met hers, and the coldness softened just slightly. But then her eyes strayed back to the King, and ignored the pleas of her young daughter, who had now launched into a fit. She tried to run towards to the edge of the box, but was restrained immediately by several guards._

 _"Sir," One of them asked the King. "Should we take her back to her room before… the event?"_

 _All the young men focused on the King, eyes pleading to take the child away. Not only for her good, but for theirs as well. No one wanted to see what was going to happen next._

 _There was the slightest shake of the head from the King. "No." The answer was shocking to everyone. "She needs to see this. This is what happens to traitors in my country." Unhappily, the guards pushed Juliet back into her seat. She sat frozen in fear like her two older siblings as her father addressed the audience, but mostly his words were directed at the offending woman._

 _"Citizen, do you have any last words?"_

 _The beautiful woman smiled up at the King, as if he had said something amusing to her. In French, a language she was fluent in as was her daughter, she spoke._

"Je me révolte, donc je suis."

 _Juliet understood the words, but not their meaning._ I revolt, therefore I am. _The King appeared disgusted and the crowd confused before he raised his hand in the air and, with a pause, let it fall._

 _In her memories, it almost seemed to happen in slow motion. Her father's hand was falling, the soldiers taking their mark. She could see the bullets spinning as they were fired, shining in the harsh light of the room. She could hear the gunshots, the echoing that haunted her nightmares for so long after that day. Juliet saw the hint of a smile on her mother's face and how she stared down the King until the last second._

 _She should have closed her eyes._

 _She wished she closed her eyes._

 _She didn't close her eyes._

 _There was a sickening spurt of read as the bullets all hit their target, striking her chest. The chair fell backwards, pushed by the weight. Her mother's beautiful features were dull, her white dress slowly turning scarlet. Arms limp on the ground, head lolling back still with that determined smile._

 _And then it was all over and Juliet was screaming harder than she ever had. It took six guards to restrain the small girl from lunging at her father. She wanted to hurt him, wanted to kill him, because he had killed her mother._

From that day, Juliet considered herself to be an orphan.

Juliet pushed the memory away, not wanting to cry harder. Though her mother was now gone from this world, it had still been up to Juliet to finish her mother's goal for her. She was supposed to be the one wearing the crown, not her silly brother who couldn't keep his nose out of a book for two seconds. Her. She was the smart one, after all. After that day, she'd studied even harder to be Queen. She wanted only to revenge her mother's life. To prove to her father that he had made a mistake.

What had she done wrong, she though, and she wasn't only thinking about losing the crown. There was Henry, too, her only true love since the day her mother was killed. Why did he leave her? Wasn't she good enough for him? She had tried so hard, all her life, to be good enough for everyone. But she had failed.

Failed her mother. Failed Henry. Failed everyone.

And so, she let the tears stream down her cheeks and lost herself in memories of the past, almost unaware of her brother's arms wrapped securely around her.

Queens didn't cry.

But she wasn't the Queen.

" _Or do they have Wickedness thrust upon them?"_

 **I was going to include a POV from a girl and one from Elyse, but it would have been so long. Not to mention that they didn't fit at all with the mood of this chapter. Poor Juliet. Now you can kind of see why she becomes so emotionally unstable when someone leaves her, and why Jasper is so overprotective of her. I've had this chapter planned out since the beginning, and it was originally going to be Chapter Three, but I changed my mind and introduced Jess to give us a break from the sadness.**

 **Otherwise, there are still a few spots left in the SYOC so keep on submitting. I need lower caste girls, Sixes, Sevens, and Fours mostly. I won't be taking any more brunettes, unless they have already been submitted to me and I haven't accepted the form as of yet.**

 **Sorry this was such a sad update. Next chapter will be happier, promise.**

 **Also, for those of you who might find my daily life interesting, I took and passed my permit test today so YAY! First try, I might add. I was so excited.**

 **Thanks guys! Love you all and keep on submitting!**

 **-Sora**


	4. Read All About It

**Chapter Five – Read All About It**

(Warning: Major triggers for abuse/self harm in this chapter.)

" _You've got the words to change a nation, but you're biting your tongue. You've spent a lifetime stuck in silence afraid that you'll say something wrong."_

Mysti Leah Foster

Red.

The world was red.

And Friday nights were always the worst times.

He was home and he was drunk off his ass. The work week was over, which was a clear invitation to challenge the healthy limits of how much alcohol one person could ingest without a trip to the emergency room. He was always bad, but it was so much worse when he was drunk. As much as she possibly could, Mysti tried to be out of the house when Friday came, preferring anything to the house which she lived in.

It was not her house.

It would never be her home.

Mysti didn't know where home was, but it wasn't where she was. For as long as she could remember, she'd never had a home. She didn't have a family. She'd never known her father, and her mother was alive somewhere, but Mysti had no idea where. But she knew what home was supposed to feel like, and it wasn't this.

Home was those few precious weeks she'd spent with Eliza in the past summers, feeling safe to be herself around her best friend. Home was the smell of cookies baking and singing without fear. Home was warm and happy, even when money was tight. Most of all, home was safe. It was a place one could always go in times of fear.

Home wasn't cowering in a corner, trying to cover her face. It wasn't skipping classes because she was too ashamed to go to school. It wasn't trying to avoid those who considered themselves her guardians but were simultaneously making her life hell. Home wasn't explaining away a bruise or a black eye with an increasingly more desperate lie, afraid someone would find out and it would get worse.

This wasn't her home. It shouldn't be her home.

She could hear the old television set in the other room, but she wasn't going to in there to see the Report. Tomorrow, she'd pick up a paper to see who had been crowned the Heir. It wasn't worth entering the same room with him, when the dishes weren't done and she hadn't dusted yet. Mysti could hear him mumbling under his breath, slurred words of one who had far too much to drink. She could only hope that he'd continue the task and pass out. The man who called himself her guardian was perhaps slightly more bearable drunk.

Suddenly, a yell from him. "Girl!" He never addressed her by her name. It had been a little over two years in this situation, and she couldn't remember a single time he'd addressed her by her given name except in public. The drunk was a perfect gentleman when people could be watching. But of course, taking in a foster child was more income. Supposedly, it was supposed to be used to pay for the expenses of the child. That wasn't what usually happened in Mysti's experience. "Get me another beer from the fridge! Now!"

The trembling started as soon as the words hit her ears. No, no, no. She didn't want to be anywhere close him. It would be like standing next to a cannon that was about to go off. An unwise idea. But it would be even worse if she owed a direct warning.

 _Run._

Where? There was nowhere to run.

 _Hide._

He'd surely find her.

 _Tell someone._

Out of the question. No one would believe her, the foster child who'd had more homes than anyone else the agencies could remember. A girl who was more trouble than she was worth. It seemed anywhere she went she caused bad luck. Families who took her in never lasted long. It's hard to be good when all you've ever known was a closed door and someone's back, leaving you behind them.

Mysti had never been good enough, apparently. Not good enough for the father she'd never met, the mother she never knew. Not good enough for anyone. She wasn't even good enough for herself.

The scars on her wrists, some still fresh, proved that fact.

Hurrying to complete his orders before he got worse, Mysti scurried to the small fridge and grabbed the bottle of golden liquid. She grabbed the bottle opener that was always lying on the filthy counter and popped off the lid. Still trembling, she crossed into the small living room.

The man, in stained clothes, barely glanced her way as she timidly handed him the beer. "Here, sir." Mysti addressed him as she always did, with nothing but plaintiveness and fake respect. A year ago, she would have tipped the table on him for ordering her around. Now, it wasn't worth the fight. She was afraid, too afraid, afraid of the man in front of her. He was stronger, more powerful, and in only about a year and a half, had crushed any spirit that she'd had.

The man, her so-called guardian according to documents from the orphanage, grunted at her as he grabbed the alcohol, and she sprinted out of the line of fire as fast as she could. Making back to the kitchen, Mysti collapsed against the refrigerator in relief. For now, she was okay. She had made it without making a mistake or saying the wrong thing, which could be anything on nights like these.

Safe.

For now, she was safe. But that was just temporarily.

Safety never lasted.

" _Lets get the TV and the radio to play our tune again. Its about time we had some airplay of our version of events."_

Princess Elyse Katrielle Sinclair

Sparkling.

The world was sparkling.

And Elyse was at the center of it all. Resplendent in her blush-and-cream colored dress, the Princess beamed proudly on the Report as if she could do no wrong. Her brother, the new king, sat on the left of her. She could feel the waves of nerves he emanated, and couldn't help being a little sad for him. He wasn't nearly as excited as he should be when he was about to announce that he would be taking over the monarchy.

Sure, the country was in chaos and war was just around the corner…

But… well, that wasn't her problem.

Looking pretty and being a princess was what Elyse liked to do. Sure, she was clearly smart enough to be the Queen, she knew more about how to rule than her bookish older brother did, but that was not her future. Ruling, she'd pass. She was too young to take the throne, anyway.

But looking pretty, that was something Elyse was quite good at.

The cameraman counted down the seconds until the Report started. Elyse observed her four siblings as the seconds ticked away.

Five.

Juliet's eyes seemed redder than normal, and her face looked blotchy. Elyse wondered if she had been crying. That was odd for her older sister, usually so tough and brave. Then again, it wasn't a normal day for any of the siblings. All her life, Juliet had wanted to be the Queen. It must be hard for her…

Four.

Elyse noted that Jasper had pulled his chair slightly closer to Juliet's. He was his normal, handsome self, but his eyes were harder. His chin was set in a determined fashion and he so much as dared anyone to look at his younger half sister. The two of them had always been close, perhaps closer than even she and Weston were. Not all together surprising, however, as those two were far closer in age than she was with her brother.

Three.

Her oldest sister was as stunning as even. Her makeup done to perfection, a blue dress that accented her slim figure perfectly. Rosemary was as pretty as always, as pretty as Elyse wanted to be when she was older. Anyone who watched the Report wouldn't be able to tell any difference from other weeks on the news. Elyse, however, recognized the glaze over her sister's eyes, the drumming of her fingers just slightly on the arm of her chair.

Two.

Weston looked a nervous wreck. He was sweating bullets, which was certainly not going to help his case. The people were about to find out the name of their new leader, and they were in for a surprise.

One.

Elyse bounced a curl and smoothed her dress down once more before plastering the sweetest, most innocent smile she could.

They were live. The country was waiting. Waiting for their new leader. Certainly, they hoped, things couldn't be worse.

This wasn't a passing of the crown.

This was the revolution.

 _Yes, I wanna sing. I wanna shout. I wanna scream till the words dry out. So put it in all of the papers, I'm not afraid. They can read all about it, read all about it."_

 **Hello everyone! I apologize, this wasn't nearly my best update. However, I was just trying to get this out so I could get to the next chapter. Which will be the Report/Drawing chapter, where the girls are introduced.**

 **The Selection is now officially closed! The list is on my bio, and thank you for every character I got. I loved them all, and it killed me to narrow them to only 20 (21 if you count Mysti, who is mine, the only one I've submitted who won't be a filler).**

 **It's late and I have an early class, but I'll try to update tomorrow. I have a new idea for the Report chapter so I'm going to hopefully make it more entertaining than other ones I've written.**

 **Love you all so much! Thanks for sticking with me! Time to get this story on the road.**

 **-Sora**


	5. Somebody to Love

**Chapter Six – Somebody to Love**

" _Each morning I get up I die a little, can barely stand on my feet. I take a look in the mirror and cry. Lord what you're doing to me."_

Everything was going well until Rose decided to speak. Most things in general in his family went well until Rose decided to speak.

Weston was actually surprised by the lack of torches and pitchforks the Report audience had when he arrived, on time for once. His mind was still far away, somewhere having a panic attack about his future, but his body parked itself in his old chair. More than likely at next week's Report, he was going to have to sit in the King's throne. That was a thought he shuddered out. He had no desire to occupy what only hours before had been his father's place. But apparently, that was his future.

But the fact that the studio had not yet been set on fire by rebels was a promising note. Then again, he had not been announced as King yet. Most citizens he knew where expecting a Queen, not another King. In Illéa, natural born Queens had been statistically much preferred, although Weston personally thought it was less of a gender issue than personalities of the Royals. Still, he knew for a fact that the country, his country, would not start out the Report looking at him for a sign of victory. Most would look at Rose, some at Juliet. Teenage girls and those with a death wish would look at his brother and the smart but unlucky ones, Elyse. Weston doubted there was a person in Illéa whose gaze would be locked on him until the startling announcement.

The Prince, no King, tried to console himself. Sometimes surprises are happy. Like birthday parties... or free cake. These thoughts did little to help him except make him hungry. His stomach growled slightly. Weston couldn't remember the last time he'd eaten... it might have been this morning, but everything was kind of a blur. Maybe after this was done and the world knew, he'd be able to eat again.

He was going to be fine.

He was going to be fine.

He was going to be fine.

Oh, who was he kidding? This was going to be hell.

All he had to do was sit there and look kingly while the host of the Report, Beckett St. James, announced the heir. That was it. It should have been simple. Surely, it would be fine, right?

Weston should have known that nothing was ever simple in his life. The universe so rarely smiled on him, he thought he could count the number of times he did so on one hand.

Beckett St. James made his announcement, all right. The gray haired gentleman was getting close to a retirement, despite not being so old, and reports were already flying in that his son, a boy about Weston's age, would soon take over his father's position. God, Weston dreaded that day. Logan St. James got on every single one of Weston's nerves, despite the fact that the King had never actually engaged in a conversation with him. Still, from all the gossip blogs his younger sisters read, even though Juliet would never admit it, he seemed like more of a playboy than anyone Weston knew. For God's sake, he was related to Jasper!

As Beckett started making the announcement, Weston consoled himself that he, as the one who would be King, was in no means obligated to let Logan take over the position of Report Host.

This made the boy marginally happier. Zoning out as he always did, politics never being remotely interesting to him, Weston almost missed his own announcement. Luckily, he jerked back to reality at the sound of his name.

"Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we are pleased to present you with the next king of Illea: His Royal Highness, Weston Sinclair!"

The room was so silent that one could have heard a pin drop. No one spoke. In fact, everyone just seemed stunned. Weston's cheeks and ears turned bright red, aware of the millions of eyes that were looking him over currently. He gave an awkward sort of wave to the camera in an attempt to lighten the mood.

 _Stupid, stupid, stupid_ , he thought, blushing, if possible, a deeper crimson.

There was a few more seconds of silence, in which Weston was distinctly aware of the waves of anger radiating from Juliet and Rosemary. The blonde's eyes were narrowed at him just slightly, but to the audience, she still maintained the epitome of innocence and kindness. It was almost nauseating to her brother, the way she had the entire country eating out of her hands. Though, as the silence seemed to grow heavier in the air, he couldn't help but wish he was as cute and popular as she was. He preferred Juliet's stony glare, who looked about ready to sock him in the face. As much as Weston valued his face (it was one of his more attractive features), that would probably call an end to the Report so he could be treated in the hospital wing.

It was a toss-up, in his opinion.

Clearing his throat, Beckett broke the silence. "Well…" he said, lacking his usual gusto, "We wish King Weston as much success as his ancestors did as he prepares to take his place of the throne. As this is a special Report, we will be signing off now if there are no further topics of discussion…" He looked at Weston as if the boy was supposed to make a speech, but was met with an visible shake of the head from the King.

No, Weston speaking would not be a good thing. He had almost made it without entirely embarrassing himself. That was good. Now, just a few more seconds and he could run far away from his life problems with a book, as he had always done. Just a few more seconds…

"Actually," a feminine voice simpered and Weston shot a look of cold fury towards Rose, who had gotten to her feet. Her blue eyes were dancing with mischievous anger and hatred as she put on her most camera ready smile. _Women_ , Weston sulked, _they always knew how to work a room_. But he didn't have time to focus on the fact that the entire country preferred his sister to him, as he was too busy staring in horror at the words he heard her speak next.

"I have an announcement."

" _I have spent all my years in believing you, but I just can't get no relief, Lord!"_

"Holy mother…" Jasper stopped himself from cursing as Elyse was also in the room. Weston agreed with his statement, though he was phrasing it a little more eloquently. His heart couldn't help but feel lighter than it had in a while. It had been a Rose had announced his Selection, much to his shock and horror, and forms were piled up all over his room. Elyse was perched on the edge of the desk and Jasper was reclining on his bed. Juliet, rather reluctantly, was next to his brother. She was staring into space, something she'd been doing lately. Weston knew that her boyfriend had broken up with her, but only Jasper really know what else was bothering her. Weston had never been close with her, and decided it was best to leave her alone. Even Rose had showed up for the "family meeting" of sorts, which was the most surprising of all. She actually seemed to be in a sweet mode for once, perhaps apologetic for what she had gotten him in to, though he highly doubted that. Never once had he known Rose to be sorry, though he did notice that she winced every time she made eye contact with him.

They were all there supporting him, and that touched Weston.

Although, if he was being honest, he was most happy about the number of forms that had arrived. There were thousands! He hadn't thought that even one girl would sign up, but he was on the way to breaking the record for the number of girls that had ever signed up for a Selection.

There was just one problem.

"You need to look at them!" Elyse whined, picking up forms and skimming them. "Some of these girls are really cool! One's going to be my sister, and you should start looking at them now."

Weston rolled his eyes. While his siblings had spent the last hour comparing girls' forms, he had stubbornly refused. He couldn't handle trying to choose them; it would just be too hard. "No, it's supposed to be a random drawing, guys."

Jasper held up a form and let out a low whistle. "But dude, some of these girls are so hot! Here, take a look at Amalia Mariah Anders… Could you have a better body?" Weston rolled his eyes at his brother's attitude, but looked at the form he was holding up anyway. The girl was extremely pretty, with strawberry blonde curls and light brown eyes.

"Oooohh…" Rose teased, a small bite in her voice, "She's exactly Jasper's type: a girl." Juliet nearly fell off the bed, she laughed so hard, and her brother hit her with a pillow. On the desk, Elyse giggled as she held out another form.

"Moving past the shallowness of Jasper," the younger Princess said, "What about Oralie Fayme? She's one of my famous pop stars… oh, you just have to pick her!"

Jasper made a motion behind Elyse's back that Weston would rather not repeat the exact meaning, but it was not appropriate. "I told you, Elysie, it's supposed to be a random draw! Both girls are pretty, but they all are. I don't want to pick when it's supposed to be a drawing."

Rose rolled her eyes. "Stop being so uptight." She winced slightly, but a smirk played on her face. "You could do to break a rule or two."

"Especially when it involves hot girls." Jasper got the pillow in the face, this time from Juliet.

All four of his siblings gave him various versions of the puppy dog eyes. They weren't going to give up until he looked at the form, were they? No, they were not. There was only one thing that he could do.

"Fine…" Weston sighed in exasperation. "I'll choose 5 girls. BUT ONLY FIVE! Am I clear?" His siblings all nodded happily, giddy with their wins. "I'll choose one, and each of you picks out one each, alright. But, Jasper, please attempt to look at girls that don't just show the most skins. I'm looking for a soul mate, not a stri-" he broke off when he realized Elyse was still listening intently. "Well, you know."

His younger sister rolled her eyes. "I'm fourteen, not eight, you know?"

"Fourteen? Already? You're getting so old." A masculine voice broke the rustling of papers. They all looked up to see a young man, a few years older than Weston, with tousled brown hair and blue eyes.

"BEAU!" Elyse screamed happily before launching herself at him. She tackled the much taller man and he caught her in mid air before swinging her around. Even as a teenage, Elyse weighed very little.

Weston grinned too. Beau. He hadn't seen him in a few months. After putting Elyse down and giving an awkward little wave to the rest of Percy's siblings, he crossed over and clapped the King on the back. "Hey, bro. Or should I say, your Royal highness. Dang, I'm so jealous. I'm related to the King, but not on the side that matters."

Beau was Weston's half-brother, the son of his mother and her first husband, who had died before she'd met the King. He was about Rose's age, a couple of years older than the King, but the two of them had been best friends since they'd met. Unfortunately, the old King hadn't been too keen on children of his favorite woman's first marriage, and the two brothers hadn't really been able to see each other as much as they wanted. Beau himself had a young daughter, Belle, but his wife had died in childbirth. Weston's father had always said it was good riddance, that anyone who had gotten married at such a young age deserved the same faith. Riffraff, he called them.

Another reason Weston had to hate his father. As if he needed more.

"God, Beau," Weston moaned, "Not you too. The next person who calls me 'Your Royal Highness' gets to die. I can do that now, I'm king."

Across the room, Juliet scoffed as she played with one of her long, brown curls. "Yeah, Father sure did that often enough." An awkward silence filled the room, as memories flooded back to them of the execution of Juliet's mother. Though naturally they had never been as close with her as her own daughter, all of the siblings shuddered to think of that day and the horrors it had contained.

Standing up suddenly, Rose made her way past the newcomer and towards the door. "I have to go." She uttered as she excused herself, not bothering to give anyone an explanation why. "Beau can have my choice."

"Cool!" Beau clapped his hands in exhilaration. He collapsed onto Weston's bed, disturbing several forms as he did so and causing Juliet's skirt to wrinkle. The princess glared at him for a second, but decided not to bring it up as she smoothed her skirt. Innocently, Beau gave his younger brother the pouty face. 'What am I picking, by the way?"

Weston rolled his eyes and explained the idea to his brother, whose face lit up in excitement. "Alright! Show me the forms!" He quickly dived into the pile with such enthusiasm, Weston earned a look from Elyse that was probably supposed to mean " _See, why can't you be more like that._ " The King stuck his tongue out at his baby sister before returning back to the forms.

They searched for another half hour or so before everyone finally found one. "Alright," Beau announced, proudly holding a piece of paper in his right hand, "Who wants to announce first?"

Elyse raised her hand like a school girl and received a nod in encouragement from her brother. "I chose Harley Louise Lancaster, a Five from Waverly. She's an actress on Broadway, which is like, really cool especially for a Five so she has to be good, and it says here that she likes flowers, musicals, and animals." Elyse looked so proud of her selection that it was impossible for Weston to not give her a bright smile and tell her how much he looked forward to meeting Harley, even if he wanted to stay neutral.

"My turn." Juliet spoke up a little reluctantly, but she had actually chosen a girl. She listed, "Zoey Cecelia Doe, Caste Three, Film Critic. She enjoys traveling, reading, and learning about different cultures. Right up your alley." As much as Weston didn't want to admit it, that was true. It was a bummer that everyone teased him about his hobbies though.

Jasper had apparently fallen asleep on the job. Juliet slammed a pillow on his face to wake him up, and of course he did not have a form that he had picked out, so he simply grabbed the one nearest to him. "Uh, uh, uh… Here. Miss Elizabeth Quinn Gardiner, a Seven. Well, I guess this probably wasn't the best one if you want someone rich or with connections. But here, look, she's kinda pretty in a flowery sort of way."

Weston made a mental note to actually research Miss Gardiner a little later so that he knew some information about her before her arrival, but he moved on to Beau's pick, placing a little more faith in that older brother than he'd had in Jasper.

"Briar Evelyn Desmond is my choice. She's also a Five, a flutist, and she says in here that she's completely blind but manages to play her instrument and live her life anyway. She also wrote a note, or told someone else to write it probably, to thank you for your time in reading this. I mean, it's not addressed to you personally, but still. Cute gesture, and if anyone's got determination, it's her."

"Still…", Weston rubbed his jaw. "Is she going to be alright in the palace? Being, blind and all?"

Beau shrugged. "It says that she's perfectly functional with the help of her guide dog. I saw we should give her a chance. It could start a new reputation in the palace. Helping those with disabilities, instead of what your father did."

It didn't take much convincing of Weston before Beau's Selection was allowed in. Weston, although hesitant at first of this idea, had to admit to himself that he really did like the girls his siblings had picked out for him. But, that was it. Just five.

Weston stacked the forms, placing the one he'd picked on the bottom. Some things were better left as a secret for now.

" _Somebody, oh please, somebody. Can anybody find me somebody to love?"_

 **Don't have time for a long AN, I need sleep! But, hope you liked the chapter! I changed the name of the story, as you can see. Also, who do y'all think Weston's form he chose was? It will be revealed in an upcoming chapter for sure, but obviously it's not one of the ones his siblings picked. Tell me who you think it is, as well as what you thought of the chapter. Excuse mistakes, everyone really wanted an update and it's like 11 and I had 3 tests and an essay today.**

 **The next chapter will be one more brief focus on Weston's other siblings, Jasper and Rose again I believe, and then it's Report time! Plus, plot twists next time ooooohhh!  
**

 **Stay tuned! Love you all! Thanks so much for your kind words and reviews. It makes my day :)**

 **-Sora**


	6. The Story of Chess

**Chapter Seven – The Story of Chess**

" _Each game of chess means there's one less variation left to be played. Each day got through means one or two less mistakes remain to be made. Not much is known of early days of chess beyond a fairly vague report: that fifteen hundred years ago two princes fought, though brothers, for a golden throne."_

Princess Juliet Anastasia Sinclair

The black and white squares on the checkerboard transformed themselves into a battlefield before the Princess's eyes. The pieces stood on their own custom table to one side of Juliet's room. Juliet often exercised her mind in a round of the game, engaging one of the guards or maids to play with her. She had never asked her siblings to join her in the fray, preferring to beat strangers than the four of them. She had once tried to teach Jasper the game, but he lacked the patience needed to challenge her. Weston and Elyse would probably know the game, but they preferred each other's company to hers.

Juliet had destroyed everyone who had sat across from her in hundreds of attempts. The brunette had never lost in all her years of playing.

But currently, the chair across from her stood empty. Alone, echoing the feeling that spun around Juliet's head. Today was the day that the forms would be drawn for her brother's Selection. It had been easy enough to pretend it wasn't happening, that it was simply a figment of her imagination. But now, about to see the names of 35 girls who would soon invade the palace, her home, the reality crashed around her. The whole world was crumbling to pieces, torn apart by a storm. Remains of once beautiful dreams had shattered and settled like daggers into her heart, and every time she moved a gilded solider, she could feel them penetrating further into her soul until she felt as if one breath could shatter the façade of perfection that she had spent so long attaining.

And she kept moving the pawns forward, the white pieces pushed towards their dark enemies without any aim in mind.

And she was shattering, shattering… broken into pieces lying on the polished stone floor of her bedroom.

Her life was falling apart, leaving the young woman without a handhold to support her own weight, and Juliet was desperately trying not to sink into despair but it was no use. And she was falling, falling, shattering.

She wasn't sure what was worse: to be a woman without a purpose or a child without a dream.

And somehow, somehow, she was both at once.

Over the wall behind the empty chair, there hung a mirror. It was the only one in her room, the Princess having something like an aversion to the special glass, unlike both of her sisters, whose rooms were practically papered with the things. Those two had spent hours preening over their reflections in the golden-rimmed glass, getting some kind of pleasure from their reflections that Juliet had never understood. The brunette was clearly as beautiful as both of her siblings, but had never found a desire to look at herself, though she imaged others had.

It was not that she feared what she saw in the mirror that kept her eyes averted.

It was what the mirror saw in her.

For no one can fool their reflection.

Her eyes met the ones in the glass, the striking blue color pinning Juliet in waves, and soon she was drowning in reality. She rose from her chair, not taking her eyes off the mirror, and stood before the silver-and-clear wall hanging, surveying her reflection. Her chocolate hair was almost perfect, with only one spiral out of place in front of her ear. She reached out a slender hand to push it back, an unconscious gesture, and her reflection copied her movement, as it always did. Never looking focus, Juliet slowly took away from her hair and reached out for the glass. Her reflection's hand was trembling, as surely her hand was, as well.

Her finger tips brushed the cold glass, and Juliet was surprised that she wasn't pulled into some other world. So she simply stood, one hand meeting joining her with her reflection and both eyes searching the face of the young woman she saw in the mirror. How was it possible that she didn't recognize those blue eyes if they were hers? That she registered her own face as a stranger? The woman in the mirror was a Queen. She wore a haughty smile on her face, her dreams having come true and everything she had worked for was accomplished.

But those were not really her dreams, were they? They were her mother's, who had placed all her hopes into her only child. They were all her mother's, whose desire for power had led to this crushing tragedy in Juliet's soul. Her mother had stolen Juliet's childhood, replaced it with an overwhelming desire to please the woman she seemed destined to fail. Everything she had worked for, it had always been for her.

And now, everything was broken. Her mother's dying wish destroyed, her daughter left in the storm this tragedy had caused. It was so overwhelmingly unfair that the Princess's chest contracted in aches just to keep herself from crying. Because Juliet would not cry anymore. Not when the mirror would show all her faults, reveal her weaknesses, the cracks in her armor that she had struggled for so long to hide. The mirror that always told her mother just how much of a failure she was.

She hated everything.

She hated her mother, for forcing her to become someone that she was not. For robbing her of her childhood. She hated her father, for standing by and letting her do so. She hated herself for not putting up a fight, but for also not being good enough. Never in her life had someone told her she was good enough.

Maybe she never had been.

But, more than anything else, Juliet hated the mirror for telling her these things. It was the source of these hatreds, not herself. Juliet was perfect, and the mirror showed someone flawed, breakable. That was not her face, those blue eyes flecked with tears like tiny stars were not hers. And yet, they were, and that was so much worse.

And so she rammed her fist into the mirror, ignoring the blood dripping down her hands, because she was breaking and if she was breaking than so was this mirror. This horrible, lying mirror that showed her the cracks in her armor, the flaws that she had worked so desperately to hide from others.

The girl that was not her, that was not Queen. The girl who had failed.

And she was shattering, shattering, as her blood dripped down her arms and stained the marble floor as red as the fire in her soul. The pieces of bloodied glass spilled onto the checkered board under it, soldiers from the opposite shaded battalions tumbling face down.

As Juliet fell to the floor to cover her head, to block out the lies, to lure herself back into a land of fantasies, her blue eyes witnessed something that should not be possible in a game with only one player.

The white queen, the most powerful piece on the board, had fallen before the dark army, fallen into a pool of her own blood.

And she was shattering… shattering…

" _Their mother cried, for no-one really likes their offspring fighting to the death. She begged them stop the slaughter with her every breath, but sure enough one brother died. Sad beyond belief, she told her winning son, 'You have caused such grief, I can't forgive this evil thing you've done'."_

Prince Jasper Kingsley Sinclair

One did not often find Jasper Sinclair, the playboy prince, kneeling on the alter of a church, but these were not ordinary times.

In truth, Jasper was not a religious person. His father had not been one for the church, as shown by his five children from different mothers, and Jasper himself had not grown up with a strong belief in a higher power. If there was a God, He was probably extremely disappointed in the blonde prince at this point. Jasper was not looking to change his life completely when he'd left the castle for the abandoned cathedral about a mile or so down the road. He'd left about an hour ago and had spent his time on the overgrown alter, attempting to speak to a deity he was not sure would care about Jasper at all.

But mostly, he was thinking. He had needed an escape from the palace, which was feeling more and more like a bejeweled cage and not his home for all his life. The truth was, not being named the Heir, it wasn't really his home anymore.

He wasn't sure what home was anymore.

He wasn't sure he ever had.

Such a hipster way of thinking, the Prince knew, but it was true. He refused to let himself dwell on his childhood, as there was no changing that. What he needed to do now was move forward with his life. Where was he supposed to go now? Was he simply to be a decoration in his brother's Selection? To sit and look better than Weston (which Jasper always did, in everyone's opinion that mattered) while 35 girls entered the palace to flirt with his brother, not him. Jasper couldn't recall a time where his brother had spoken to a woman in a romantic fashion, let alone one that counted as actually flirting. If the blonde hadn't been so confused over what to do with his life, perhaps he would have offered advice to his younger brother. He wasn't sure that Weston would take it, in all honestly.

Those poor girls.

Jasper almost pitied them, if he hadn't thought his heart too black to pity anyone. His brother, though his looks didn't come close to rivaling his own, was far more of a hopeless romantic than Jasper could ever consider himself to be. The games he played were just that: games. There was little he received out of it, and maybe a therapist he'd heard whispering that the prince simply acted out because of the lack of love he'd received in his childhood. No mother, a man less than a father.

It was no wonder that his notion of love was so warped, corrupted… that he was so twisted.

But all that he was, all that he is, was a boy, and he was lost, and he was confused, and he was scared. For the first time in his life, Jasper wanted to change his ways. Though his siblings had seen this crowning of Weston as a defeat, Jasper chose to view it as a wakeup call. This was the universe freeing him from the path he had thought was his destiny.

Just like his father.

All his life, Jasper had been "just like his father."

No more.

 _Please, God…_ Jasper thought desperately, not knowing the proper way to start a prayer. _I don't know if you can hear me, or if you care, but I'm lost. I don't know where to go from here. I know I've made some mistakes, but I can change. I promise. I… I want to change. I... don't want… to be like_ _ **him**_ _anymore._

"Well…" The feminine voice from behind him wasn't its soft, soothing self. "Look who can enter a church! I'm so proud." Jasper didn't need to turn to picture his sister's golden curls and perfectly done makeup. The sarcasm dripping off her voice was enough to proof the voice's owner.

Jasper adopted the ignore-it-and-hope-it-leaves tactic in regards to his older sister, assuming she was there to be mean (not the first time) or to drag him back to the palace. There was only about an hour to go before the drawing of the Selected girls, which he was supposed to be at for God knows why, exactly.

Surprisingly, his sister did neither of those things. He heard her dainty footsteps from behind him as she approached and kneeled next to him, wrinkling her dress as she did so. Jasper turned his head slightly, noting the distant expression in the blonde's blue eyes and the fact that her cream colored dress was now stained with grass from the overgrown, abandoned church. Never in his life had Jasper seen Rosemary with a stain on her dress.

He decided not to mention it. Perhaps she was turning over a new leaf, but mostly, Jasper had no plans to die today.

"So…" His sister started the conversation again, another first for her. "This is a church, is it? They ought to fire the gardener." Rose's tone was almost humorous as she gestured to the abandoned room, which hadn't been used for at least a hundred years. Large chunks of marble tile had been replaced with grass that had survived winters and risen to the light. Pillars of stone looked about to collapse. The blonde quickly shot Jasper a teasing smile, making sure he knew she was joking.

Jasper gave her a thin smile with no trace of humor in it, but his mind was somewhere else. Rose's smile had transported them back to when they were children, the times when it had just been them. When they were toddlers together, before Juliet and Weston and before everything went wrong. Of course, he didn't really remember it, but he'd heard stories.

Before his father had changed the rules and separated them forever.

The story had been written before he could remember. The five children, or four when the rules had changed with Elyse not having been born, were always destined to be competitors. That was his father's rule. Well, if that was his father's ordinance, then Jasper was destined to break it.

He was not his father.

He would not be his father.

No more.

And so, not noticing the faint smell of smoke making its way into the cathedral, Jasper reached out and took his sister's hand. It tightened for the briefest instant before relaxing in his grip.

And so the two of them, heads bowed and eyes closed, prayed to someone that neither were sure was there.

" _He tried to explain how things had really been, but he tried in vain. No words of his could mollify the queen."_

Unknown Perspective

When Marie had been younger, her mother had warned her never to trust a survivor. For one never knew what they had done to stay alive. Now, she was no longer a naïve child, and it was her who had to survive, to be the best, to please her mother. And it was her turn to wonder how far she would go to survive… Her mission was, in theory, simple.

But the conscious was a tricky devil, and Marie's was screaming in both her heart and her head, as it always did, as it always had.

She was not a girl who had much choice in her life, however. She supposed it could have been worse, though. There were worse things than following her mother's plans to the letter. It meant no one was disappointed in her, that no one was yelling and that she went to bed without another scar on her back to add to the ones fast collecting on her heart.

 _It's okay_ , she would tell anyone when they tried to comfort her. _It's okay. Don't worry about me._ When called upon, she would even defend her mother. _She's just doing what is best for me. She just wants what's right, what's fair._

In times like these, Marie regretted being able to see both sides of every conflict. Her mother always told her that the skill was useful, something good especially in politics. But all her life, it had only come with regrets and sadness and disappointing someone she cared about. Someone who was supposed to care about her. Someone who often didn't.

Marie had never known her father, and now she never would. But from all she'd heard, she understood why her mother had been his bride. Manipulative, cunning, brilliant.

Not afraid to use their children as pawns to get something they wanted. Perhaps she was complaining too much, however. Maybe this was all really for the best. After all, Marie's mother was never wrong. She had told her daughter that herself.

And after all, her mother had been the queen, for a few short months. And now it was Marie's turn. To take back the throne that should, after the death of the King, belong to her. She was the King's daughter, after all.

Just not the daughter anyone knew about.

But she'd never told Marie that there was going to be a fire. A fire that set the blonde's morals on fire, as well as her heart. This wasn't supposed to happen like this. This wasn't what how Marie was supposed to rise to power. She wasn't supposed to kill anyone. That wasn't what she was like, not her. She wasn't that kind of person.

The gun clutched tightly in her right hand told otherwise.

"Marinette!" The young man's voice echoed into the night, a little ways behind her on the abandoned church rooftop. It was panting and out of breath, but it still made her feel a little giddy inside, thought Marie tried to squash those feelings as fast as she could. She was no longer a child, and this was the revolution. She had no time for juvenile crushes, not if she was to one day be Queen.

The blonde tried to walk faster, but it was no use. The boy had longer legs and he grabbed her left wrist. "Marinette, please." Stronger than the delicate girl, he pulled her to face him. She barely reached his chest at only a little over five feet tall, but that didn't matter. She squirmed, attempting to free herself from his grip. Damn Bailey. She didn't need this right now. Her conscious was crying out enough. If she didn't complete her mission soon, the two figures… her half-siblings, she thought in despair… would smell the smoke her mother had caused and leave.

Marie shuddered to think what would happen to her if she failed her mission. She would not fail her mother. Could not fail her mother. Not if she wished to keep living.

"Let go, Bailey!" Her green eyes bored into his dark ones, pleading him as much as commanding him. He knew as much as anyone what she had to lose if she didn't follow through on her mother's plan. "Please…" she whispered, and her voice broke. She wasn't a child and yet she sounded like a girl, and she was so afraid of the fire and the gun and failing.

"Marie." Bailey reached one hand out to tilt her chin up and used the other to press her to his chest. "You don't have to do this! Please, this isn't you and you know it. I know you, Marie, please. You, you're not a murderer. You aren't… you don't have to be… her."

The young woman sniffled and was aware of how time was trickling away and how she was crying and how Bailey still had yet to let go of her. "But… I do have to be her. She'd kill me if I don't, if I wasn't…" And then Marie was breaking and sobbing in his arms, and he was holding the girl who no idea how to be her own person for she had never been allowed to be.

There was an instant before she pulled herself back together, and in that instant Bailey thought he saw a light die in those jade green eyes. "She's the only family I've ever known, Bailey. Without her, no matter how… evil… she is, I would have no one."

The boy held her more tightly. "You'd have me. You'd always have me." His voice lowered to an even softer whisper. "I love you, Marie…"

Marie laughed just a little, though there was no humor in the short sound. She wiped her tears and gave him a hard look, one he'd seen hundreds of times when her mother had forced her to become the monster that she needed her child to be. Marie shut herself, her real self, away from the world and always did what she asked.

She stood on her tip toes and kissed his cheek softly. "I love you too. Don't you understand? I can't lose you… She'd… if I didn't… I can't… I just can't lose you too, Bailey."

And she turned those hauntingly sad green orbs away from her and raised her gun. Pointed it into an opening on the cracking roof and at one of the figures trying to escape the flames that her mother had sent. The fire that Marie had never been informed about.

 _I'm sorry…_ Marie was in tears as she gripped the trigger, _I'm so, so sorry._ At least it would be faster than the fire.

Marie had always had to follow her mother's orders. For her, there had never been another option. She was the daughter of King Christian and Queen Angelica, the true Heir of Illea. But more than anything, she was a survivor.

How far would she go to stay alive? To stay afloat in this hurricane that was her life? It was a hard question to answer. And as she took aim at one figure, she realized why her mother had always never to trust one who lived, but had never advised her not to become one. This had all just been a part of her plan, all along.

Was this surviving? Was this the way to survive? Marie hoped so, no matter what her heart screamed.

She pulled the trigger and the world

came

crashing

down…

" _And so he asked the wisest men he knew the way to lessen her distress."_

Princess Rosemary Elizabeth Dahlia Sinclair

The world around her was on fire and Rosemary was rooted to the ground like a tree. _Trees burn_ , she tried to tell herself. _You will burn if you don't move_. But her feet refused to budge and her heart race and Rosemary could not fathom her panic.

Never had she met a challenge that she couldn't face. Never had she been caught in such a disaster.

But the flames surrounding her were nothing compared to the fire in her soul, and instead she laughed, for it was all too funny that this, this was how she would die. Fire. Never had Rosemary expected fire. It was almost too perfect, that they should try to kill a demon with its own element. For this surely could not a random chance, a coincidence that the church with two Royals in it would burn down.

No, the Princess was aware that someone had set this fire, was trying currently to kill her. Would be astonished when they found that she did not succumb to the fiery inferno.

No one understood that Rosemary was a Phoenix, and that she could rise from anything. They had attempted to burn her, but this would only stir the flames of anger already lapping at her soul.

She would end them, end them all. The voices told her so, motivating and scaring her at the same time. She was to be Queen, after all, and Queens punished those who posed a threat to the crown. All of them would pay. Anyone who stood in her way. _End them…_ the voices purred in agreement to her dark thoughts. The stronger the flames grew, the more the voices echoed.

"Rose!" Jasper's screams brought the Princess back into reality. Her brother was not immune to fire, like she believed she might be. And even Rose noticed how hot it was and how the smoke attempted to choke her. She could see Jasper, and he was farther in the middle of the church than she was, on the alter where the two of them had kneeled. The fire was bad there, and he was almost surrounded by the crackling flames. "Rose, HELP ME!" The Prince appeared to have caught his foot under a broken pillar that had fallen on him. To help him, she would have to run into the fire.

 _Leave him,_ the voices practically screamed. _This is even better than having to kill him yourself… It would be something of an accident, even. You could have tried your hardest to save him, but obviously, you aren't fireproof. Leave…_

It would be so easy… She knew it would be easy…

But she was not, would not, be a monster.

Rose ran towards her younger brother, her impractical heels tumbling off and the bottom of her feet burning. She reached him and desperately attempted to push the rubble off of him, and he did the same. With their combined might, the two freed the Prince and Rose helped him to his feet. Jasper stumbled as soon as he was to his feet.

"My ankle… I think it's broken… Doesn't matter if we die, though, let's get out of here." The Prince bolted as fast as he could towards a broken window, his sister following suit as quickly as she could.

Neither was aware of the small red dot that had appeared suddenly on Rose's back, or the figure on the roof, her blonde curls shaking as she trembled, holding the gun.

"Too late to be a hero…" Marinette whispered as she pulled the trigger.

The gunshot alerted Rose to the fact that something was wrong. Even more wrong than the fire.

She was aware of her brother's screams and the fire that burned the building around them, seemingly oblivious as to the fact that this was a holy sanctuary as the overgrowth that kindled the flames had been.

She was aware of the excruciating, sharp pain that suddenly hit her lower spine and the screams that filled the air. But she was not aware that it was her voice that was so shrill, mixed with her brother desperately calling her name.

The princess collapsed to the ground, and Jasper, from his vantage point as he fought flames to reach his sister, had the fleeting thought that she looked rather like a fallen angel with her blonde hair cascading around her face and her white dress transforming scarlet with its owner's blood.

The white queen has fallen, Rosemary thought. The world had turned to flames and there was so much red around her.

And then she was aware of no more.

" _They told him he'd be pretty certain to impress by using model soldiers on a checkered board to show it was his brother's fault. They thus invented chess."_


	7. Kill the Lights

**Chapter Eight – Kill the Lights**

" _You reside in grand disguises, just to get, get away from it all. Falsify the life you're hiding, just to get, get away from it all."_

Prince Weston Declan Sinclair

" _Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt."_

When life got difficult, Weston often turned to the works of William Shakespeare and found solace in the soliloquies and eulogies of the characters, so lifelike that the felt like his personal friends. Rather socially awkward, the young prince had never had been one to build strong bonds between others, besides his younger sister and his mother, which he wasn't entirely sure counted, and a few sons and daughters of foreigners who had quickly left after learning of his father's tyrannical habits. So, to pass the time, Weston had taken comfort in his personal library, the one he had lovingly labored on the blueprints for over three months before he gave them to the royal contractor. It was his pride and joy, and no one besides his family had ever set foot inside it, not even a servant.

Now, as he scurried to the set of The Report, quotes of legendary plays swirled and danced inside his head, distracting him from the uneasy feeling in his stomach. It was far past butterflies at this point, as hearing the names of his 35 girlfriends was a lot more stressful that an insect or two. This was more like an earthquake.

To Weston, who was a claustrophobic person by nature, it felt as if the world was caving in.

This was, he was aware, probably a stupid feeling to have when about to see the picture of the love of his life. But the Prince couldn't help but think that something, something was wrong. Nothing had happened to give him this idea, really. The palace was fine, busy with preparations for the girls who would arrive in a week. Everything was fine, really.

And that was what worried him.

This whole week, he had been basically on time and prepared for everything. Elyse has been helping him, of course, but he didn't mind. The young man was already well aware that his fourteen-year-old sister was far more prepared than he was to be the ruler. Then again, she wasn't going to be Queen, so perhaps that took some of the pressure off of her. Weston wasn't sure about that fact, but he knew that his life since the announcement had been one huge calamity to another.

Now, suddenly, everything seemed to have settled it. And Weston didn't like it. Well, it wasn't as if he didn't want his life to calm down. He just didn't entirely trust it. He hadn't seen either Jasper or Rosemary all day, which was never a good sign. Elyse had been placed on heading the Selection Committee, as she'd decided to call it, and had roped Juliet into picking out the colors of the Selected girls' bedrooms. Weston only knew this because his youngest sister had spent approximately seventy years in his room last night before bed attempting to choose between cream and eggshell for the trim in the bathroom for the girls. Before that, Weston hadn't been aware that it was possible to be bored to actual tears, but he guessed you learned something new everyday. Did he look like he was the type of person who cared whether it was cream or eggshell paint? For God's sake, they were both white!

"Weston!" The Prince heard his name called from behind him and turned around. Juliet rushed forward, which was quite impressive in her three inch heels, a sour expression on her face. "Weston, can I talk to you?" She looked put off by something, which was usual, and also slightly worried, which was not. Her eyes were slightly bloodshot, as if she hadn't slept in a week. In her hand, she clutched a piece of paper as if her life depended on it.

Her brother's eyes flicked to the butler, who was giving him an annoyed look at this delay. "Umm…" Weston was uncomfortable making decisions. "Can it wait, Jules? I really need to get to the Report early, for once."

"Oh…" His sister turned the paper over in her hands, her face dropping momentarily before she nodded. "Okay. But right after the Report, okay?"

"Got it! After! See you there!" Weston said as he continued to race along, not having time to worry about what the piece of paper contained. Probably just another color of paint they needed his approval on. Not that it mattered, to him. The Selected girls were allowed to redecorate them as much as they wanted, so Weston thought this whole thing was a waste of time.

He was not, however, going to tell Elyse this.

The young prince waited on his throne, early for once but too early. 45 minutes too early. Some staff members milled around lazily, checking equipment and cleaning cameras. A few of them gave him strange looks, but he hardly noticed. He needed this time. To prepare for what was to come.

But sometimes, even Shakespeare couldn't console him in times of true struggle. Almost an hour passed, and Weston was only joined by Elyse. Beau and Belle followed her, and his brother gave the prince an odd look. "I don't know where they are, either," Weston desperately tried not to panic. Were they just going to abandon him? Where were they? Jasper and Rosemary had been gone for most of the day, but now Juliet was gone too. That wasn't like her, Weston knew, but it was like her to attempt to sabotage something that didn't go her way. Perhaps she was off doing the something quickly in attempt to steal the crown away from him.

Weston wished she'd hurry up. He was only two weeks into this job and it already sucked.

 _This whole thing was more trouble than it was worth_ , Weston pouted as the Report countdown began. Probably not exactly what he should have been thinking when about to see pictures of the 35, but he was too annoyed to care. Beau, apparently deciding to take the place of Jasper, lounged comfortably in his chair as if he'd done this his entire life, Belle bouncing up and down on his lap, clutching her stuffed bear. He looked far more prepared than Weston himself did to judge the pictures of 35 girls. Then again, anyone probably would have been more qualified than himself. He hoped that he wasn't going to embarrass himself too much in front of, oh, the entire nation.

Were girls able to withdraw from the Selection after they were picked? He was pretty sure most of them were going to want to, after tonight. God, he hoped that was against the rules, but at this point, it wouldn't surprise him. Honestly, if one more thing went wrong today, Weston was going to punch someone.

"Wazzup, amigos?" The annoying voice almost gave Weston an aneurism right there and then. His hands curled into fists and he seriously had to restrain himself from giving Logan St. James a black eye in front of the live audience. It was, quite possibly, the hardest thing he'd ever had to do. Elyse sat up straighter and played with her hair as she saw Logan, utterly in love with her as was every other teenage girl on the planet. Grr… stupid Logan with his stupid hair and his stupid charm. Weston hated him. He couldn't believe that this was who was announcing the Report and the most important day of his life.

The camera counted down. Five, four, three, two… One.

The red light flicked on. Show time.

"Hellooooooooo, Illea! It's me, Logan St. James, taking over for my old man today. I'm so excited to be with you all tonight, especially on the night that 35 lovely ladies are going to have their lives changed forever. That's right, everyone, it's Selected Night!"

Weston was going to murder him. Next to him, Beau looked like he was about to laugh and Elyse was about to faint from the excitement.

"There's been some interesting political stuff happening this week, but no one really cares about that. Let's just skip to what really matters and start reading those names out. I know, you can thank me later for getting straight to the point. Tonight isn't about me, it's about our wonderful King-to-Be, Prince Weston himself." The camera panned to the prince and he gave an awkward wave before realizing it was stupid. "Got anything you want to say to the ladies in the audience, Your Royal Highness?"

"Err…." Weston had not realized he was going to be put on the spot like this. "Thanks for applying?" He awkwardly managed to stutter before going red in the face. He was terrible at this.

"Awww, isn't he sweet folks? Alright, let's not dillydallying anymore, folks. Time to read those names! We'll go in alphabetical order, shall we? The first girl we have… from Allens, Miss Fleur Dahlia Devereaux, Eight."

 _Well, that was certainly a way to start a Selection off with a bang_ , Weston thought. The young prince wasn't sure there had ever been an Eight in a Selection before, whether that was just or not. He wondered how this girl had managed to get in as he laid eyes on the picture of the first girl of 35 that he might marry. She had dark colored hair down her back, a little unkempt and frizzy which was to be expected from an Eight. Weston noticed her eyes, first, though, and how striking they were. A beautiful swirl of green and blue, they reminded him of the ocean. But they looked so sad, so afraid. He instantly felt the urge to strike whoever who had made the girl look so scared. But he didn't have time to dwell on this, as Logan had already moved onto the next name.

"From Angeles, Miss Penelope Quiakides, Three." Another pretty girl, though Weston supposed they would all be beautiful. Penelope had tanned skin and raven colored hair that she had half-up, half-down. Her eyes were so blue that they almost appeared purple, which was a beautiful effect, but also intimidating. He thought he had heard the name Quiakides, but couldn't remember where or when.

The girl from Atlin was Savannah or something, and cute but not memorable at all. Baffin brought him Cassandra Merriweather, a Four with strawberry blonde curls and a freckled face.

Weston had actually seen Candida Nivens, a popular weathergirl on a fairly large network, which he had often seen. She was a cute blonde, with a personality that matched her sweet face from what the prince had seen of her weather reporting. He wondered why she would give up that career to join the Selection, when she was such a promising talent, and made a mental note to ask about that as politely as he could as he was frankly curious about the answer.

He missed everything except the first name of the girl from Belcourt, Maia, pondering this question.

Bonita came up with a name from popular culture, Miss Austen Zimmerman. Weston had seen her picture hundreds of times, plastered under headlines like "Hottest Young Actress" or "Illea's Angels" in Elyse's magazines that she tried, and failed, to hide. The prince had to agree with all the hubbub over the Bonita candidate, because she was quite possibly the most gorgeous girl he had ever seen. Her hair was a dark, cocoa brown that flawlessly accented her tanned skin and hazel eyes. Her makeup was perfectly done, probably by a professional, and she had been captured flashing the camera a runway-perfect smile.

"From Calgary, Miss Mayre Mao, Six." Logan and Weston both recoiled slightly as they were met with quite possibly the scariest death glare either of the boys had ever seen. The girl on screen was pretty, of Asian descent from her appearance with long, black hair and skin like porcelain, but Weston didn't know what the cameraman had done to invoke the wrath she was giving him. As her picture flashed up, he had just enough time to make a mental note never to get on her bad side before it disappeared off the screen.

Hope Hansen, the Three from Carolina, caught his eye because of her colorful hair. She had several different colors mixed in her bleached blonde locks, with tips colored with cool shades of blue, purple, and emerald. She had a sweet smile that didn't match her rocker, punk look, and Weston wasn't exactly sure what to think about. Daphne Ferris, from Clermont, had a heart shaped face framed by her auburn hair, which was cut in a long bob.

"From Columbia, Miss Holland Larkworthy, a Four." Holland wasn't as strikingly pretty as Austen or Candida, but she was still elegant in her own fashion. Her eyes were a lighter blue than the previous girls, almost a sky blue color, and crinkled as she smiled a little shyly at the camera. She looked almost too young to be applying for the Selection, and Weston hoped there wasn't a mistake with the ages.

Dakota introduced Sierra Ferguson, a beautiful girl with skin the color of dark chocolate and eyes like caramel. She wasn't smiling as brightly as some of the younger girls, but she seemed to have almost a maternal instinct that glowed around her, evident even in the photograph. Denbeigh and Dominica had two girls that didn't catch Weston's eye, unfortunately, though he was sure that Gloria and Anastasia would be a lot more interesting when he met them in person.

Jasper's pick came up first alphabetically, and Weston knew if his brother had been there, he would have been gloating at that random coincidence. Elizabeth Gardener looked as friendly and approachable as she had as the first time he'd seen her picture, with her blonde curls and warm, round eyes. She was quite pretty in a girl-next-door sort of way, and Weston thought it was nice that she was a more average beauty than some of the other girls. Both her and Fleur seemed to have a natural sort of charm to their good looks that couldn't be manufactured with makeup or fancy clothes.

Hmmm… Weston shot a suspicious look at Elyse as Oralie Fayme's name came up from Hansport, and he raised his eyebrows just slightly as he looked at the pop star. Of course, she was popular and probably immediately a preferred candidate in the Selection, but he had an idea that Elyse may have had something to do with her form getting chosen…

Honduragua's candidate was a girl named Luna, who looked… for lack of a better word, mean. Perhaps it was just the angle of the picture, but she seemed a little arrogant for Weston's liking. If Jasper was here, he was sure that he'd be wolf whistling.

They were just at Simantha Adams, of Hudson, which marked approximately the halfway point, when it happened. A distressed young woman in a nurse's outfit banged open the door and all eyes turned to her. She blushed pink at all the attention, but quickly made her way to the director of the Report. The woman whispered something in his ear, and the older man instantly paled. Speaking to Logan through a headset, he made several cutting motions that Weston was not one hundred percent certain of the meaning. He had never seen them before, not during a live broadcast.

Even Mr. St. James seemed to be startled by the news. "Err…" The host stuttered, losing his charm for the first time ever, "We'll be back after a short break to finish announcing the rest of the names. Please, stay calm. We're just experiencing… technical difficulties with some of the equipment here on the set and want to make sure than the rest of the ladies get just as much screen time as the ones already pulled."

That was a lie. It was a rather good lie, Weston admitted, for coming right off of the top of his head, but it was a lie none the less. The screens were fine.

So what wasn't?

The red light flashed off, probably over to a commercial break or a rerun, and the young woman ran up directly to the young Prince himself. She quickly gave an awkward curtsey, but immediately started her sentence. She sounded winded, as if she had been running quite fast for a lengthy stretch of time.

"Your Majesty… It's your sister, Princess Rosemary."

Instantly, Weston's heart beat a mile a minute. Adrenaline pumped through his veins. What had she done this time? One of her schemes, perhaps, or maybe she had finally gone off the deep end. It wouldn't be a surprise, really. Despite how hard she tried to hide her mental issues, Weston had always known. He wasn't sure if any of his other siblings were aware, but he had overheard her conversations with no one a few too many times when she thought she was alone. "What has she done?"

Confusion flashed across the young woman's face before she shook her head. "No, Your Majesty. She… she's been shot."

Elyse, who had been listening to the conversation attentively, cried out in shock and horror. "No!" Beau whispered from his chair, pulling his young daughter closer to him as if it was she the shooter was pointing at, and not Rosemary. For his part, Weston could hardly process the information. Shot? The word seemed entirely unfamiliar to him as it bounced around his head, unable to form any solid connections.

"Is…" It was his half-brother who spoke up first, not him. "Is she alive?" Beau looked more put together than either of his siblings, appearing ready to take action and command troops in a battlefield. The King that Illea truly deserved, as Weston had always thought.

There was a moment, just an infinitesimal pause, a normal pause, where the woman processed his question but where the siblings imagined all the horrific aspects and outcomes. It couldn't… it couldn't have been too late, could it? Weston didn't know what he would do with himself if he lost one of his siblings.

He did not get along with Rose. He never had. Truthfully, he was afraid of her. She was so much more cunning than him, so much more passionate and fearsome. Rosemary resembled a fox, the prince had often thought. Beautiful and popular to behold, but sly and cunning under the surface. She would have done anything to get his crown, and every one of the Royal siblings knew this. And yet she hadn't… at least not yet. He could not lose her. It would be like losing a part of himself, no matter how distant they had always been.

Weston was brought into a world where it was always him against the world. Against his father. Often, against his siblings. But when it came down to it, they were dependable. They were his family and he loved them, no matter if the feeling was mutual or not.

And he thought about all this in one instant, in one breath, in one heartbeat, and he froze.

"Yes, sir." The nurse addressed Beau, as he had asked the question. "The doctors do not know for a fact as she is still in surgery, but they are quite positive that she is going to make a full recovery." She turned back to Elyse and Weston. "Your brother, Prince Jasper, saw to that. I believe…" The nurse blushed slightly, as many people did when they spoke about the popular Royal. "I believe he carried her out of a burning church all the way to the palace doctors, though I don't know for sure. He was in a panic, understandably, but he was responsible for saving her life. If he hadn't been as quick, she might have been gravely injured or… worse."

Weston barely heard the story she told about Jasper. He barely heard any word after the first.

Rose was safe.

She was alive.

" _Kill the lights, kill the actor, kill the actress. We're begging you to kill the lights, kill the actor, kill the actress."_

Jasper Kingsley Sinclair

Why was it that Jasper so often found himself face to face with the bottom of a bottle? Strange, for the Prince who had everything, everything he could ever want, to feel like nothing at all. So often tossed around the saying, "Better than nothing." The blond felt that this was the worst saying in the entire world.

It would be better to have nothing, to be nothing, than to be this… this monstrosity. He had caused this. It was his fault.

He tried to reassure himself. The doctors had told him that Rose would ultimately be fine, no lasting scars or injuries at all. The bullet had just missed her spinal cord, which could have caused permanent paralysis. Jasper would have jumped out of the highest window if that had happened. They had called him a hero, for carrying her so far, for running so fast, for being so brave.

He didn't feel like a hero.

He felt like a monster.

So much destruction, so much pain, all because of him. It had been his fault for getting stuck in the flames that Rose had run back. Why, why had she run back? How many people would be hurt, because of him? Because of his family? Because he was just like his father and no matter how much he tried, he would never escape his past.

His sister should have let him burn. The world should have let him burn.

People who said the past didn't define you didn't have anything to be ashamed of. That was a lie. His past was his present and his future. No matter what, he was King Christian Sinclair's son. He was marked.

He was broken.

And he could not be something that he was not. He could not try to be good when his nature screamed at him the opposite. Jasper was no angel. Everywhere he went, people seemed to get hurt. Because of him.

Because of the monster he was.

Because of the monster he had always been.

The world was wrong. Wrong about so much. The world was cold, and cruel, and it judged you. The world only liked those who were perfect, like his youngest sister, or those unmarked by the pain of life, like Weston. But most of all, the world wasn't fair. It played favorites. It had taken Jasper's mother and tossed him aside, to become what he was today. A monster. Today, he was a monster.

His brother would think he was a monster. His sister could have died because he was a monster. His fault. This whole thing was his fault. But wasn't everything? Jasper had been born with tragedy in his blood. He wasn't like his siblings, made up of stars and divine secrets which he could never hope to learn.

No. Jasper was made of flesh and blood and faults and stitched together with lies he'd told to those he'd broken and left behind to die. And he knew it, oh how he knew it, but he could not change who he was as one could not change who their parents were.

This… this life… this was not better than nothing.

And so he downed another bottle and got as close to nothingness as he could.

He must have looked the fool, stumbling down the hallways with the drink to his lips and a stumble every third step he took. But he was too drunk to care, for his feelings had been dimmed somewhere around the halfway point of the bottle that was now almost empty and he felt almost human at last. "Jules!" He called loudly, reaching her door and almost falling into it, walking up anyone who might have been sleeping anywhere nearby and surely his sister himself. "Jules." Jasper hiccupped and his words were slurred as he pounded on the wooden door. How similar this scene looked to only a few weeks before, when he was consoling his sister after her boyfriend had left. _Jackass_ , Jasper thought bitterly, _the words he wanted to say to that guy..._ Except he was now the one who needed consoling. Or at least, a glass of water and some aspirin.

The Prince received no answer from his sister, but that was normal. It was one in the morning, after all, not the typical time for visitors. A sober Jasper might have cared about waking her, but in his current state, he didn't mind. He pushed open the door and stumbled into the dark room, accidently banging it as he did. "Shhh…" He giggled to himself at his little joke, looking around to see if his sister was awake yet. It was hard to be sure, since there wasn't much light. The only source came from the window, where the moonlight trickled in dimly and the curtains fluttered just softly enough to inform Jasper that the window was open. Jasper wondered who kept their window open in the middle of the winter months, but his eyes suddenly alighted on something… something lying just below the window…

 _What was that smell_ , the blond wondered as he turned on the lights to examine it more. It was almost… metallic.

The lights in his sister's chandelier lit immediately, bulbs twinkling like tiny stars above her freshly made bed. Jasper admired them slightly in his drunken haze, and thought they looked remarkably like how religious people might imagine the glow angels gave off, as they watched over the people of the Earth. And as he crossed the room, Jasper smiled, because here, without emotions, without feelings, with nothing, maybe his life wasn't as bad as he thought.

But then he caught clear sight of what was laying under the window and for a moment, for just a moment,

the

world

caved

in…

And the smell was too strong, too strong, and it shouldn't have been there at all. It should never have been there. But it was, and it was all so wrong, too wrong, and Jasper's head spun and the world spun and nothing was real except… except…

Except for his sister, his beautiful sister, lying under the window looking very much as if she had decided to take a nap there. Her brunette curls looked like they belonged on a doll, as she lay facedown in the carpet. Jasper screamed and he turned her over as fast as he could possibly get to her… but her blue eyes that had shown like sapphires were lifeless and glassy, and her face was stained red from blood. The Prince screamed and screamed at everything, at the walls, at the windows, at his sister for not answering him. She wouldn't wake up, she didn't wake up, and Jasper knew, but he didn't care as he screamed at the universe to take him instead of her.

And the lights of the chandeliers no longer looked like angels as they danced, mocking his every move, as he clutched the bloody body of his baby sister, the only family he'd ever known to care about him, to his chest until he too was stained in her blood. He didn't notice the paper lying next to her lifeless body nor would he have cared. All he cared about was how cold Juliet's body was and the stab wounds in her chest and on her neck where blood still trickled gently from as he desperately screamed for her to answer.

But the out of all the people who heard the Prince's screams, the only one he wanted to hear the most was gone.

Still, Jasper screamed.

Several minutes later, when the maid rushed in to see what all the noise was about, she found a corpse and a person. One of the Princess Juliet, the girl who no one would ever defeat, and her older brother, whose bottle had broken as he'd dropped it so that the glass was now permanently red like a stained glass window.

And it was impossible to tell which one of them whose heart had stopped beating and which one who had stopped living.

" _Or kill us all."_

 **I'm so proud that I kept this a secret the whole time. I'm the worst at keeping my own plot twists secret and this one has been planned for several months now, since the beginning of this story. Okay, I'm actually sad in all honesty. You have no idea how long I tried to postpone this chapter.**

 **I know a lot of you are going to hate me because of this chapter, but I'm actually kind of proud of it. It's sort of a combination of both of my styles and there are some really poetic lines that I finally got to use. Plus, I'm a die hard Shakespeare fan, as well as a Set It Off fan (where the song lyrics are from), and I have been waiting to use this line. I also feel like there are some really important parallels between Jasper and Weston in this chapter. They aren't really as different as they seem and that's true with all the Royals. In the coming chapters and into the Selection, you'll see the gap between them start to shrink.**

 **But… now you see why I didn't have an Author's Note last chapter. I wanted to, but since that wasn't really the true cliff hanger, I felt like it was hard to say anything that I couldn't give away. Before you freak out and yell at me, this is a literary device. A lot of you talk about having kill lists, and I actually did to before I started this story.**

 **I want to say I'm sorry, but well… this had to happen. This was actually the first thing I planned when I created this story, and I'm really proud that I didn't tell the secret to anyone. Rose's injury came to me as a rouse later, but this was the real deal. For all you wondering why Marie and Bailey had to do what they did, you'll see a more in coming chapters.**

 **I know, we'll all miss Juliet. I'll miss her too. For all of you wondering why I talked about her how she would act in the future Selection, I kind of had to… A lot of people asked about the other Royals and how she would act, so I couldn't not tell you or it would spoil the… well, surprise sounds a little too happy for this chapter.**

 **So, basically, sorry not sorry. I liked Jules a lot too, but I promise you that this was always planned. Please don't flame at me *hides under covers*. I know a lot of you are mad and sad and I totally understand. Eight chapters in and your attachment to this story warms my heart. I really, really hope you don't stop reading because of this, because there's still a lot more to go.**

 **On a different subject, don't worry about the other half of the girls who got interrupted. I'll make sure to either finish the second half of the Report or do something to get their names mentioned, I'm just not exactly sure what yet.**

 **Also, Hailey and Mage really wanted the so-called Cinnamon Roll chart, the Cinnamon Roll Chart didn't fit the mood of this chapter so I'm doing it next one!**


	8. Danny Boy

(Inspired by BYU Vocal Point's cover of the song. Strongly recommend listening while reading this chapter, for the full experience.)

 **Chapter Nine - Oh Danny Boy**

" _Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling from glen to glen, and down the mountain side."_

The feeling of grief was an odd one.

It hit a person differently, depending on who they were. Sometimes it was a sharp pain, like a dagger being pressed into one's heart, and it seemed impossible to keep living, as a sword through the heart is usually fatal.

Grief wasn't fatal.

Sometimes the pain was more of a weight than anything else. It was as if the memories of times you'd had with the lost had turned to stone and they were pushing you into the earth, to rejoin the departed. It seemed impossible to live with such a weight on one's person. The constant pain, the constant stumbles from the crushing agony of separation- and there was no relief, no one else to share the pain with you when everyone else was suffering as well.

Grief wasn't fatal.

Sometimes it came and went, here and there, to a person who lived their life in joy and happiness. One could forget, in an instant, and make believe that everything is fine. An escape from reality wasn't a true escape, for one always returned in the end. It was if one was climbing a rope to get out of a bottomless pit. Try as they might, pull as might pull, no one will ever get out of the pit. One will simply get more and more trying to climb higher, until they ultimately succumbed back into the pit of despair like everyone else.

Grief wasn't fatal.

Some chose to leave, to distance themselves from the pain they felt deep within their hearts. They thought distance would make the ache dull in a way that staying in a place where everything reminded them of the lost soul never could let them forget. _Anything_ , they try to justify, _anything is better than this… this hurt._ Run away from everything. Leave others to deal with it.

Grief wasn't fatal.

Some took to false stimulants of happiness. Drugs, alcohol, sex… all playthings of someone incapable of coping with grief. Whether for the first of the five hundredth time, it was always a fallback option. Something to get your mind off of them, for just a second, just a minute… just forever. They took pills and hoped it would delete their memories, but it never worked. Only blurred the ages for a few minutes until they took more and more and more and it was never enough… never enough to forget…

Grief wasn't fatal.

Nothing truly took one's mind off of the loss, however, and that fact was worse than it being fatal all together.

" _The summer's gone, and all the roses falling. It's you, it's you must go and I must bide."_

Weston Sinclair was far too young to be wearing black for two events in a row. They all were, really. _It wasn't fair_ , he thought bitterly, it wasn't fair that he had been out here for his father's funeral just a few weeks previously and now he was out here again. It wasn't fair there was another grave, another headstone marking another fallen royal who would never again wake.

He held it together at the funeral until the very end. He gave his speech like all his siblings did, the ones related to Juliet, of course, and he thought that she would have been proud of it. He hadn't stuttered once. He'd kept his head held high and he had never even needed to look at the cards in his hands, the ones he had scrawled on with his messy script and stained with tears the day before.

 _It wasn't fair_ , he thought, that she wasn't there to see his speech.

He almost made it to the end of the funeral without crying. Kings weren't supposed to cry, and Juliet had known that and would have been mad if she'd seen him cry know. Juliet never cried, not in front of audiences, because she was raised to be a queen and they didn't cry either. Kings and queens were one in the same- they were supposed to be strong for their people.

Weston wasn't strong.

Juliet was strong.

 _Had been strong._

And it was unfair, it was so unfair that she was not here now to be strong. It was unfair that the two had never gotten the chance to be that close. It was unfair that he had never gotten to talk with her after the Report like he had promised.

It was unfair that his life was just a series of broken promises that no one, not even himself, could keep.

And as he watched Juliet's casket being lowered into the ground, as his heart felt like it was being stabbed and that his soul was shattering into a thousand, unfixable pieces, the tears that he had been holding back trickled down his face and Weston thought it unfair… unfair that she was not here, next to him, to chide him gently about crying like she had done at their father's wake.

It was raining, however, and it was impossible to tell whether he was crying or not as he had refused to stand under Elyse's umbrella.

Rain wasn't fatal, not in the long run. And somehow, it was appropriate, in some horribly real poetic sense in the world. Funerals were supposed to be dismal, gloomy places, if one relied on the words of literature to decide. Rain made it look like the entire universe was crying over his lost sister, taken from the world too soon by some cruel twist of face.

It had been raining, he remembered in a flash of pain, that it had been raining at the funeral for Juliet's mother, as well. The prince hoped that she was with her now, and that they were happy, wherever they ended up. Mother and daughter reunited, perhaps sooner than anyone would have expected.

And Weston was not a religious person, but he hoped for that there was a Heaven up there in the sky for his little sister.

The rain fell on his face when he looked up at the sky, and it blurred his vision even more than the tears had. From his vantage, the sky looked too far away… Juliet had always made reaching for the whole world look easy. He hoped that she had finally caught it, and that it made her happy, at long last.

If he could touch the sky, Weston thought, he'd like nothing more than to bring his sister back to earth where she belonged. With him. With Jasper. With all of them.

Reaching Heaven wasn't fatal, wasn't the cause of death the prince knew, but it wasn't fair either.

" _But come ye back when summer's in the meadow or when the valley's hushed and white with snow."_

Beau woke up his daughter in the middle of the night, about twelve hours after the funeral for his brother's younger sister. Despite having no relationship with Juliet, the young man couldn't help but pick up on the fear and grief that now lurked in every corner of the palace. He didn't like it… There was something wrong in the palace. There was something wrong, and he couldn't stay.

"Belle," he whispered to the sleeping child and picked her up gently in his arms. "Ma chérie, we must go. Now, s'il vous plaît."

The child blinked sleep from her eyes and held her father close. "Why, Papa? The sun is still asleep."

He held her tightly, refusing to put her down even though she was by far old enough to walk on her own. But she was his daughter, the only thing he had left of Evangeline, and as much as he wanted to be there for his brother and sister in their time of need, he would not risk the safety of his treasure to stay at some palace that had never wanted him in general.

"I know, Belle-baby, but please. Hush now, we're going home." He walked out of the guest bedroom the two had been inhabiting and started for the stairs. The staff had already loaded their two suitcases into his car, and everything was set to leave.

Afraid of the suddenly, the child started to bawl, and bawl loudly. "I don't wanna go!" Belle was a smart child, and knew the palace was much nicer than where she lived most of the year, though she and her father certainly had a nice enough cottage. Not to mention, however, that her aunt and uncle were here, not at home, and she didn't want to leave them.

Desperately, her father tried to shush her before she woke up the entire palace, but it was too late. The door next to him creaked open, and Elyse stuck her head out with unkempt hair and eyes bloodshot with tears. Underneath his breath, Beau cursed. He had forgotten how close his sister's room was to the one he occupied.

"Beau?" Her voice was a whisper, a ghost of the cheerful shout it usually was. "Beau, what's happening? Why is she crying?" She asked, but there were more unsaid questions on her lips that she bit back in fear of scaring her niece. Belle herself was far more reassured now, and had seemingly cried herself to sleep in the safety of her father's arms.

"Everything is fine, Elysie. But I-we have to go." Beau swallowed the guilt that threatened to cause himself to burst. This was what had to happen. He could not be the father that Belle needed if someone targeted him like Juliet. And as much as he loved his younger sister and wanted to take her with him, that was not his choice to make. She, like Weston, belonged in the palace.

He and his daughter belonged at home, at their own home, and he would be persuaded to stay by no amount of tears or sobs from Elyse. It was time to leave.

His younger sister broke down and began begging him to stay with her, not to leave him, and Beau had to harden his heart to her pleas. It was a choice of family, really, of which side of him he was going to choice. He loved Elyse. He had been there when she had been born, with Weston, and had been the first to hold the child before anyone else, besides his mother. It had been him who had taught his sister, in one of the few visits to the palace the King had allowed him, how to ride a bike. Weston had been there, as well, but he was absolutely useless when it came to instructing anyone.

But as his sleeping daughter shifted peacefully in his arms, he knew that there was absolutely no choice in the world.

"I'm sorry, Elysie… I'm sorry." He apologized and he meant it, but then he turned his back on her. He left her where she stood, right outside her door, and he got into the car that one of the footmen had brought to him. Beau buckled his daughter into the carseat and gave one look at the palace, and its dark abyss of windows, and where he knew Elyse still stood even though he could no longer see her, and he hoped that one day she would understand why he made the choice he had to.

And he turned the key in the ignition and pressed his foot on the gas pedal, and he was gone from the palace without a goodbye to anyone else.

Goodbyes weren't fatal but sometimes they felt like forever, and Beau was afraid, he was so afraid, of forever.

" _'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow. O Danny Boy, O Danny Boy, I love you so."_

" _When winter's come and all the flowers are dying, and I am dead, as dead I well may be, you'll come and find the place where I am lying and kneel and say an "Ave" there for me."_

Rosemary wanted someone to blame, and she didn't have anyone to pin the guilt on.

Her sister was dead, murdered, and no one knew how or why. Their one shred of evidence was the stupid scrap of paper that Juliet had tried to show Weston an hour before she was killed, and that had been soaked in too much of her blood to be remotely readable.

Why?

All Rose wanted to know was why?

Sitting in the hospital, with all these needles and pills and things that she didn't understand around her, wasn't going to give them an answer. Only searching for something, anything, would give them clues to the culprit and the motive, but no one was doing anything. And she was stuck in this stupid bed all the time because she had been shot, and she needed bedrest, or something as ridiculous as that.

Rosemary didn't trust anything the doctors told her. She knew how doctors worked. They pretended to be your friends but really, they were just looking at ways to fix you.

Fixing required you to be broken, and Rosemary was not broken.

All she wanted was someone to blame and here, in this hospital, she had no one to blame but herself. Not simply for Juliet's death, but for everything in her life. She wanted to be out there, avenging her sister's death, not here where things were scary and the princess felt like a child when people talked softly to her and explained things she didn't know or care about.

For the first time in her life, that she could remember, Rose was scared. Not just for herself, but for the rest of her siblings, too. They were in danger. They could be killed at any minute, and Rose would still be here in this stupid bed with the stupid nurse who begged the girl to take her medicine, which she refused to do. Because they were lying, lying about the medicine, lying to her, and she wanted out.

And she wanted someone to blame, give her soMEONE TO BLAME. She screamed and screamed at the walls and the doctors, and the voices screamed back at her, until Rosemary had to cover her ears like a little girl again to block out the voices.

It didn't work, because she was the only one making the noise, but sometimes it was hard to understand that.

Her life was so… loud.

The voices and the loud, they weren't fatal… but they spoke of wanting to kill her. And Rosemary wasn't sure that there was really a difference between those things, after all.

" _O Danny Boy, the stream flows cool and slowly; and pipes still call and echo 'cross the glen. Your broken brother sighs and feels so lowly, for you have not returned to smile again."_

Jasper wasn't sure how he had made it through the funeral the day before. Thinking back on it now, he wasn't sure how it hadn't killed him. Maybe it had, and all he was seeing now was the hell he deserved after being the way he was, for being the person he was. He had been getting better, he knew. He had been getting better and then the universe had taken his sister away and now he was so, so much worse than when he had started.

Everything he did reminded Jasper of her. Everywhere he went, everything… she was his whole life, had been his whole life. And she had wanted him to get better, and would have been mad if she had seen how much worse that he was becoming.

His breath smelled like alcohol at the funeral. It smelled so strongly of the substance that people had moved away from him as he walked by. No one said anything, but they were thinking it, and by God, the whispers were worse than if they had simply said it to his face.

Jasper didn't care.

She would have.

He had woken up with a strange girl curled next to him, a maid probably, and he had no memory of asking her to be there. The prince was sure he had, though, asked her at one point or another.

Jasper didn't care.

She would have.

Juliet was the only one that had seemed to care about him for his whole life, and now she was gone. Jasper thought that in some ways, it might be a relief. He had no one left, now, no one to care what he was becoming or ask him to change. Juliet had been the only one. Now, he shouldn't have cared if he was a monster or not because no one alive had an opinion that valued that much to him anymore.

But he still thought about

And Jasper hurled every breakable thing against the wall he had and watched them shatter, like his heart, and he thought he didn't care, but he did. Because she would have cared, because she would have been angry at him for doing such a thing, and all he wanted was for her back to judge him.

Funny. He'd spent his whole life wanting nothing more than to escape judgement and now he would have given his life for one last piece of advice.

He wondered if she was somewhere, judging him right now. If she would always be there, judging him. That was what some people believed, that those we loved were always with us no matter where we ventured, but it sure as hell didn't feel like she was here with him now. And she should have been. God, she should have been there.

Jasper had punched her slimy ex when he had tried to come to the funeral, right in his ugly jaw. The photographers had a field day with the story, but his siblings had been proud of him. Elyse had even smiled, for the first time since they'd discovered the body.

That didn't matter. Not to the prince.

He wondered if she would have cared, though.

An opinion wasn't fatal, but to Jasper, it seemed like life or death.

" _So if you've died and crossed the stream before us, we pray that angels met you on the shore."_

Grief wasn't supposed to be fatal.

But to the lives left behind… oh, how lives were fragile things.

" _And you'll look down, and gently you'll implore us to live so we may see your smiling face once more, once more."_

 **This chapter was short and angsty, so I'm sorry, but it wouldn't have worked to start the next chapter. Next chapter, the girls will be at the palace and the pace will start kicking up. This was also written more like a first person POV with the thoughts than I've ever written, so that's why there's a lot of incorrect sentence starting.**


End file.
